3   1822  01223  5396 


t  SHORT  PLAYS 

ABOUT 

FAMOUS  AUTHORS 


•JVUUDE -MORRISON  'FRAiNR 


LIBRARY 


ITY    Op 


ORNia    SAN  OIEGO 


3    1822  01223   5396  1 


N 
F55 


SHORT  PLAYS  ABOUT 
FAMOUS  AUTHORS 


BY 


MAUDE  MORRISON  FRANK 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 
1915 


Copyright,  1915, 

BY 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 
Published  February,  1915 


For  permission  to  produce  any  of  the  plays  in  this  volume  at  an 
entertainment  for  which  an  admission  fee  is  charged,  application 
should  be  made  to  the  author,  in  care  of  the  publishers.  No  per- 
mission is  necessary  unless  an  admission  fee  is  charged. 


THE   QUINN    «    BODEN    CO.  PRESS 


For  love  of  unforgotten  times  — 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 


INTRODUCTION 

When  a  writer  of  stories  or  plays  chooses  well- 
known  characters  for  his  chief  personages,  he  finds  him- 
self obliged  to  take  certain  liberties  with  the  facts  as  set 
down  in  the  printed  page  of  history  or  biography.  As 
Sir  Walter  Scott  once  put  it,  stories  of  things  that  really 
happened  must  be  given  a  stick  and  a  cocked  hat,  before 
they  can  be  introduced  to  readers  as  novels  or  dramas. 
In  the  plays  contained  in  this  volume  there  has  been 
some  shifting  of  dates  to  help  out  the  plots,  and  Time 
has  been  made  to  go  at  a  less  dawdling  pace  than  is  his 
habit,  in  order  to  bring  necessary  happenings  within 
the  compass  of  a  single  act.  But  these  changes  are 
fairly  entitled  to  indulgence,  if,  in  spite  of  them,  the 
familiar  figures  that  appear  against  backgrounds  more 
or  less  closely  copied  from  actual  life  are  not  unfaith- 
fully portrayed.  The  writer  hopes  that  such  is  the  case, 
and  that  Goldsmith,  Dickens,  and  the  others  whom 
we  know  and  care  for  may  become  in  some  slight  de- 
gree more  real  to  the  young  people  who  read  and  act 
these  little  plays  about  great  authors. 

Experience  has  shown  that  the  production  of  the 
plays  need  present  few  difficulties,  even  to  players  of 
very  limited  resources.  The  setting  is  in  all  cases  ex- 
ceedingly simple.     The  costumes  required  for  all  the 


vi  INTRODUCTION 

characters,  with  the  exception  of  those  in  the  Christmas 
pageant  and  the  fairy  plaj-,  belong  to  the  eighteenth  or 
the  early  nineteenth  centur3\  In  planning  these  cos- 
tumes, Hugh  Thomson's  or  C.  E.  Brock's  illustrations 
to  books  dealing  with  the  periods  in  question  will  serve 
as  helpful  and  readily  accessible  guides.  A  good  and  in- 
expensive quartet  of  books  describing  and  illustrating 
costumes  is  the  series  "  English  Costumes,"  prepared  by 
D.  C.  Calthrop,  and  published  by  A.  C.  Black  and 
Company.  The  costumes  of  the  characters  in  the 
Christmas  pageant  are  traditional,  and  are  fully  de- 
scribed in  the  stage  directions.  For  the  elves  in  "  The 
Fairies'  Plea  "  there  are  useful  suggestions  in  the  ex- 
cellent little  book,  "  The  Bankside  Costume  Book  for 
Children,"  by  Melicent  Stone,  published  recently  by 
Wells,  Gardner,  Darton,  and  Company. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Introduction v 

A  Mistake  at  the  Manor      ....  i 

When  Heine  Was  Twenty-One  ...  33 

Miss  Burney  at  Court 65 

A  Christmas  Eve  with  Charles  Dickens  .  97 

The  Fairies'  Plea 133 


A  MISTAKE    AT   THE    MANOR 


This  play  is  based  on  an  incident  in  the  early  life  of 
Oliver  Goldsmith,  which  is  related  as  follows  by  Aus- 
tin Dobson: 

"  Having  set  ofi  for  school  on  a  borrowed  hack,  and 
equipped  with  boundless  riches  in  the  shape  of  a  guinea, 
given  him  by  a  friend,  he  amused  himself  by  viewing 
the  neighboring  country  seats  on  the  road,  intending 
ultimately  to  put  up  like  a  gentleman  at  an  inn.  Night 
fell,  and  he  found  himself  at  Ardagh,  half-way  on  his 
journey.  Casting  about  for  information  as  to  the  best 
house,  that  is  to  say,  the  best  inn  in  the  neighborhood, 
he  unluckily  hit  upon  one  Cornelius  Kelly,  who  had 
been  fencing-master  to  the  Marquis  of  Granby,  but, 
what  is  more  to  the  purpose,  a  confirmed  wag  and  prac- 
tical joker.  Amused  with  Oliver's  schoolboy  swagger, 
he  gravely  directed  him  to  the  mansion  of  the  local 
magnate,  Squire  Featherston.  To  Squire  Featherston 
the  lad  accordingly  repaired,  and  called  hastily  for  some- 
one to  take  his  horse.  Being  ushered  into  the  presence 
of  the  supposed  landlord  and  his  family,  he  ordered  a 
good  supper,  invited  the  rest  to  share,  treated  to  a  bottle 
or  two  of  wine,  and  finally  retired  to  rest,  leaving  care- 
ful instructions  that  a  hot  cake  should  be  prepared  for 
his  breakfast  on  the  morrow.  His  host,  who  was  a 
humorist,  and,  moreover,  knew  something  of  his  visitor's 
father,  never  undeceived  him,  and  it  was  not  until  he 

3 


4  A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR 

quitted  the  supposed  inn  the  next  day  that  he  learned  to 
his  confusion  that  he  had  been  entertained  at  a  private 
house.  Thus  early  in  Oliver  Goldsmith's  career  was 
rehearsed  the  first  sketch  of  the  successful  comedy,  '  She 
Stoops  to  Conquer.'  " 


A   MISTAKE   AT   THE    MANOR 

CHARACTERS 

Squire  Featherston,  a  country  gentleman. 

Mrs.  Featherston,  his  wife. 

Grady,  a  butler. 

Molly,  a  maid. 

Cornelius  Kelly,  a  groom. 

Oliver  Goldsmith,  aged   15. 

Time:  1743. 
Scene:  The  dining-hall  at  Featherston  Manor.  In 
the  center  of  the  hall  is  a  table  set  for  three.  To  the 
left  is  another  table  on  which  are  various  pieces  of 
silver.  Grady  is  vigorously  polishing  the  silver  as 
Kelly  enters  from  the  right.  Kelly  wears  high 
boots,  and  carries  his  hat,  in  which  is  fastened  a  cockade 
of  white  ribbon. 

Grady 
Is  it  yourself,  then,  Corney  Kelly,  coming  around  so 
early?    And  what  might  be  the  matter  with  the  stables, 
that  you're  after  quitting  them  at  this  time  of  the  day  ? 

Kelly 
Sure,  I  just  stepped  over  to  wish  you  the  top  o'  the 
morning,  and  to  ask  how  the  world  was  treating  you 
all  here. 

5 


6  A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR 

Grady 

[Angrily.]  How  the  world  is  treating  me,  is  it? 
'Tis  not  a  good  time  to  ask  me  that,  then.  There's  a 
scrap  of  the  world  that's  treating  me  as  bad  as  pos- 
sible this  very  minute.  Hot  cakes,  indeed !  I'd  hot 
him,  if  I  had  the  chance.  "  And  don't  go  wool-gather- 
ing and  forget  to  put  the  plates  in  the  platewarmer,  old 
cock,"  he  says  to  me — me,  that's  waited  on  Squire 
Featherston  and  all  his  friends  for  four  and  twenty 
year! 

Kelly 
Who's  this  you're  distressing  yourself  about? 

Grady 

'Tis  a  young  sprig  that  dropped  in  here  last  night  to 
visit  the  master,  and  is  like  to  drive  us  all  distracted 
with  his  impudent  ways.  "  Don't  you  be  after  filling 
your  pockets  more  than  half  full  up  with  his  oats,"  he 
says  to  Tim  O'Rourke,  when  he  gives  him  his  horse  to 
feed.  Tim  was  that  angry  when  he  came  in  and  told 
us  in  the  servants'  hall  about  it  that  we  could  hardly 
keep  him  from  going  back  and  putting  up  his  fists  at 
him.     And  ]\Iolly 

Kelly 

[Interrupting.]  Molly!  What  did  he  have  to  be 
after  saying  anything  at  all  to  Molly  for? 


A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR  7 

Grady 

[Laughing.l  Ah,  there,  now;  there's  no  need  to  be 
troubling  yourself  about  anything  he  might  say  to 
Molly,  even  though  'tis  her  bachelor  you'd  like  to  be. 
'Tis  only  a  youngster  that  he  is,  though  a  more  for- 
ward, swaggering  jackanapes  I  never  set  eyes  on. 
[Enter  Molly.]  Here's  Molly  herself  now.  Do  you 
ask  her  if  I'm  not  in  the  right  about  him. 

Molly 

I've  a  message  for  you,  Mr.  Grady.  [Seeing 
Kelly.]    A  pleasant  good-morning  to  you,  Mr.  Kelly, 

Kelly 

Sure,  'tis  always  a  pleasant  morning  when  I  see  you, 
Molly. 

Grady 

[To  Molly.]  Have  jou  forgotten  my  message 
entirely  ? 

Molly 

'Tis  from  the  j'oung  gentleman  in  the  guest-chamber. 
He  called  out  to  me,  that  you  were  to  look  sharp  with 
his  breakfast,  and  not  forget  the  cake,  for  he'd  be  down 
directly. 

Grady 

Did  anyone  ever  hear  the  like  of  that,  now  ?  I  won- 
der did  he  have  no  more  orders  to  give? 

[Bell  rings  violently. 


8  A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR 

Molly 

There's  his  bell  now.  I'll  run  up  and  see  what  he'll 
be  needing,  or  he'll  be  after  breaking  the  bell-pull. 

[Exit  Molly. 

Grady 

Perhaps  his  boots  weren't  blacked  to  his  liking,  and 
he'd  be  wanting  the  master  to  do  them  for  him,  or 
maybe  he'd  wish  the  mistress  to  mend  the  tear  in  his 
ruffles.  [Re-enter  Molly,  laughing. 

Grady 

And  what  was  his  will,  then  ? 

Molly 

Faith,  I  couldn't  keep  from  laughing  in  the  face  of 
him.  He  wanted  shaving-water,  and  him  no  more  than 
a  slip  of  a  boy  that's  hardly  loosed  from  his  mother's 
apron-strings.  "  Is  it  yourself  you're  going  to  shave?  " 
says  I.  "  And  maybe  when  I  bring  you  up  the  water 
I'll  bring  you  up  the  cat,  too,  and  you  can  shave  her."  * 

Kelly 

[Admiringly.]  Ah,  you've  always  got  the  ready 
tongue,  Molly. 

*  Molly  must  have  told  this  joke  about  the  cat  to  her 
friends,  for  we  find  Sullivan,  Captain  Fitzsimons's  man  in 
Thackeray's  "  Barry  Lyndon,"  making  the  same  remark  to 
young  Redmond  Barry  under  similar  circumstances. 


A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR  9 

Grady 

I'll  have  to  be  going  in  to  the  cook  now,  I  expect, 
and  giving  her  the  visitor's  orders.  Was  the  like  of 
such  a  visitor  ever  seen,  I  ask  you?  Ordering  his  own 
breakfast  in  the  Squire's  house,  and  telling  me  to  look 
sharp  about  it,  too!  [To  Molly  and  Kelly.]  Do 
you  two,  now,  get  away  out  of  here.  It's  little  I  care 
about  the  young  jackanapes,  but  the  Squire  and  the 
mistress'll  be  along  presently,  and  the  hall's  no  place 
for  you,  Corney  Kelly,  even  if  the  Squire  does  think  a 
deal  of  you  for  keeping  his  horses  in  good  trim. 

[Exit  Grady. 

Molly 

He's  angry  in  good  earnest.  But  sure  'tis  a  queer 
thing  for  the  master  to  be  having  a  lad  with  ways  like 
those  in  the  house,  and  him  always  so  particular  with 
everybody.  Why,  when  I  passed  the  door  last  night, 
'twas  sitting  in  the  best  armchair  he  was,  with  the 
Squire  and  the  mistress  both  standing  up,  and  his  legs 
crossed  before  him,  as  comfortable  as  a  lord. 

Kelly 

[In  a  confidential  tone.~\  Would  you  like  me  to  tell 
you  a  fine  secret,  Molly? 

Molly 

Why  wouldn't  I  like  to  know  a  secret  of  any  kind 
whatever  ? 


10  A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR 

Kelly 

Will  you  dance  with  me  at  the  village  to-night,  if 
I  tell  it  you? 

Molly 

I  will  that.  But  be  quick  with  your  secret,  for  I'll 
have  to  be  getting  back  to  my  work  before  the  mistress 
comes  along. 

Kelly 

'Tis  all  a  trick  of  my  own  about  the  lad  above- 
stairs. 

Molly 

A  trick,  you  say?    What  kind  of  a  trick,  then? 

Kelly 

Well,  'tis  this  way.  Last  night,  as  I  was  walking 
down  the  road  smoking  my  pipe,  there  comes  along  this 
young  bantam-cock  of  a  fellow.  He  pulls  up  his  horse 
and  says  to  me,  as  patronizing  as  if  he  was  King  George 
himself,  "  Can  you  tell  me,  my  man,  if  there's  any 
place  hereabouts  where  a  gentleman  could  lie  for  the 
night?  None  of  your  cabins,"  he  says,  flourishing  his 
whip,  "  but  a  place  where  a  gentleman  that  could  pay 
for  real  comfort  would  be  at  home.  The  best  house 
in  the  district  is  what  I'm  looking  for,  my  good  fel- 
low," says  he  again.  "  Is  it  the  very  best  house  here- 
abouts you're  looking  for?"  says  I.  "And  what  else 
would   a  gentleman   like  me  be   wanting?  "   says  he. 


A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR  ii 

"  Well,  then,"  says  I,  "  you  go  on  half  a  mile  down  the 
road,  and  then  take  the  turn  to  the  left,  and  you'll  see 
the  house  that's  the  best  in  Ardagh."  "  There's  good 
quarters  there?  "  he  asks.  "  As  good  as  any  in  all  Ire- 
land," says  I,  speaking  nothing  but  the  truth.  "  Well, 
then,  good-night  to  you,  my  man,"  says  he,  and  rides 
off,  as  proud  as  you  please. 

Molly 

[In  a  tone  of  consternation^  And  'twas  here  you 
sent  him! 

Kelly 
Isn't  this  the  best  house  in  Ardagh,  I'd  like  to  know? 

Molly 

You  sent  him  to  Squire  Featherston's  when  he  was 
looking  for  an  inn !  Sure  the  Squire'U  not  forgive  you 
if  he  finds  it  out.  'Tis  a  kind  master  that  he  is,  but 
he'll  not  be  for  putting  up  with  the  like  of  that,  I'm 
thinking, 

Kelly 

Ah,  then,  I've  not  much  fear  of  his  finding  out  at 
all,  that  'twas  myself  that  sent  him  here,  for  the  young 
sprig  had  no  knowledge  of  me,  whatever.  And  if  he 
did — why,  the  Squire's  fond  of  a  joke  himself,  they've 
all  been  telling  me  ever  since  I  came  on  to  Ardagh. 
And  if  ever  anyone  needed  to  have  his  comb  cut,  'twas 


12  A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR 

my  young  gentleman  of  last  night,  with  his  airs  and  his 
flourishes,  and  the  Squire's  the  right  one  to  be  doing 
it  for  him. 

Molly 

[In  a  puzzled  tone.]  The  Squire  never  let  on  the 
least  bit  in  the  world  that  the  lad  was  no  friend  of  his. 

Kelly 

I  wonder  now  what  that  was  for.  But  we've  a  good 
tale  to  tell,  whichever  way  the  cat  jumps.  Let's  be 
off  now,  for  here's  the  master  and  mistress  coming. 
I'll  go  below  stairs  with  you,  and  maybe  we'll  hear 
something  from  Mr.  Grady  when  breakfast's  over. 

Molly 

Ah,  sure,  'tis  you  that  has  the  head  for  a  clever 
trick,  Mr.  Kelly.  I  wish  there  may  no  harm  come 
to  you  for  this  one,  though. 

Kelly 

I'll  not  mind  anything  whatever,  if  you'll  keep  your 
promise  about  the  dance  to-night,  Molly. 

[Exeunt  Molly  and  Kelly.  Enter 
Squire  Featherston  and  Mrs. 
Featherston.  Mrs.  Featherston 
goes  up  to  one  of  the  chairs  at  the  table 
and  is  about  to  be  seated,  when  the 
Squire  checks  her. 


A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR  13 

Squire  Featherston 

[In  a  tone  of  pretended  concern.]  For  shame,  my 
dear!  It  would  never  do  for  the  landlord  and  land- 
lady to  take  their  places  before  their  guest  was  seated. 
We  must  e'en  stand  and  wait  for  him,  willy-nilly. 

Mrs.  Featherston 
I  protest,  the  part  grows  too  difficult  for  me  to  play. 

Squire  Featherston 

Nay,  as  for  me,  I  find  it  a  pleasant  enough  change  to 
be  Boniface  for  a  while,  instead  of  the  Squire — to  be 
bullied  a  trifle,  instead  of  being  made  obeisance  to. 
'Tis  a  moment's  breath  of  reality  such  as  seldom  touches 
us  little  great  folk  of  the  landed  gentry'.  I  have  my 
fill  of  seeing  everybody  about  me  hat  in  hand,  and  I 
should  be  but  ungrateful  not  to  welcome  anyone  who 
says  a  few  rude  words  to  me — even  though  'tis  only  a 
foolish  lad  making  a  foolish  blunder. 

Mrs.  Featherston 

[Petulantly.]  Well,  Mr.  Featherston,  I  am  less 
fond  of  rude  words  than  you,  and  I  shan't  be  sorry 
when  the  jest  is  over. 

Squire  Featherston 

A  little  patience,  madam,  and  the  game  will  play 
itself  out.     [A  noise  is  heard  as  if  of  furniture  being 


14         A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR 

pushed  about.]  Hark,  I  think  I  hear  my  gentleman 
bestirring  himself.  We  must  take  pains  not  to  make  it 
too  hard  for  him  when  he  comes  to  his  senses, — eh,  my 
dear?  I  confess,  I've  taken  a  liking  to  the  scapegrace, 
in  spite  of  his  impudence. 

[Enter  Goldsmith,  humming  a  tune 
loudly.  He  strides  up  to  the  table, 
draws  the  chair  up  as  noisily  as  possible, 
and  throws  himself  back  in  it  with  an  air 
of  great  importance. 

Squire  Featherston 

[Boiving  low.]  Good-morning  to  you,  sir.  I  hope 
you  rested  well. 

Goldsmith 

{^IVith  an  air  of  nonchalance.]  Ha!  landlord,  at 
j'our  post?  Never  fear;  I'll  not  forget  to  call  for  a 
morning  tankard  to  make  the  reckoning  longer.  The 
house  shan't  suffer  that  has  7ne  for  a  guest,  I  promise 
you. 

Squire  Featherston 

[Deprecatingly.]  Nay,  sir,  I  but  inquired  how  you 
had  slept. 

Goldsmith 
Oh,  as  to  that,  so-so. 


A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR  15 

Mrs.  Featherston 
Was  the  bed  not  to  your  liking,  sir? 

Goldsmith 

[Carelessly.]  'Twas  not  so  ill  for  an  inn,  maybe. 
But  you  should  get  fresher  hangings  when  the  next 
packman  comes  to  your  gate.  Mistress  Boniface. 

Mrs.  Featherston 

[Bridling.]  'Tis  a  pity  that  our  tapestries  did  not 
please  you.  They  have  some  value  in  the  eyes  of 
judges  of  the  art. 

Goldsmith 

A  fig  for  all  musty,  fusty  hangings  of  any  sort  what- 
ever, say  I.  But  I  vow  I  shall  be  starved  if  you 
dawdle  away  the  time  much  longer  with  your  talk  of 
tapestries  and  such.  What  about  breakfast,  pray? 
What  can  you  give  me,  now? 

Squire  Featherston 

[Rubbing  his  hands.]  We  have  in  the  larder,  I 
believe,  a  joint  of  cold  beef,  a  leg  of  cold  veal,  a  ham, 
and  a  pigeon-pie,  from  which  we  should  be  honored  to 
have  you  select  your  meal.  I  can  especially  vouch  for 
the  merits  of  the  pie. 

Goldsmith 

None  of  your  cold  victuals  for  me.  'Tis  quite 
enough  to  have  them  offered  you  at  night,  after  a  ride 


i6  A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR 

of  a  dozen  miles  or  more,  without  beginning  the  next 
day  upon  them.  You're  a  prettj'  landlord,  man!  I 
warrant  you've  forgotten  the  hot  cake  I  bespoke  last 
night.  [To  Mrs.  Featherston.]  You  should  jog 
his  memory,  hostess! 

Squire  Featherston 
I  protest,  I  had  forgotten.    But  I  make  no  doubt  that 
the  butler — I  should  say  rather,  the  factotum — to  whom 
your  honor  was  pleased  to  give  the  order,  has  kept  your 
honor's  wishes  in  mind  better  than  I. 

Goldsmith 
Have  the  fellow  in,  then,  and  waste  no  time  about 
it.     I  must  be  getting  on  my  way  as  quick  as  may  be, 
and  I  have  no  mind  to  go  on  with  only  your  cold  com- 
fort in  my  stomach. 

Squire  Featherston 

He  shall  be  here  directly,  sir. 

[Rings  bell. 

Mrs.  Featherston 
I  wish,  sir,  that  we  might  have  succeeded  better  in 
winning  your  favor. 

Goldsmith 
Nay,   Madam   Boniface,  never  heed  me  overmuch. 
'Tis  only  a  traveler's  way,  after  all.    Who  would  give 


A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR  17 

a  snap  of  his  fingers  for  us  travelers  if  we  were  always 
content?  \^Enter  Grady. 

Goldsmith 

[fVith  a  change  of  manner.^  Ah,  here's  the  old  cock 
himself.  [Grady  starts  indignantly,  but  controls  him- 
self.] The  solemn  look  of  him's  worth  an  extra  shilling 
in  the  reckoning.  [To  Grady.]  Did  you  remember 
what  I  bespoke  for  breakfast,  now  ? 

Grady 

[Very  gravely.]  I  did,  sir.  The  cook's  only  just 
now  drawing  the  cake  out  of  the  oven. 

Goldsmith 

Up  with  it  then,  double-quick.  And  a  draught  of 
your  best  ale  with  it — your  best,  mind  you — none  of 
your  second  brew. 

[Grady  goes  out.  Goldsmith  lolls  back 
in  his  chair  and  sings  "  Barbara  Allen  " 
quite  audibly,  continuing  while  Grady 
re-enters  bearing  a  tankard,  and  followed 
by  Molly,  who  carries  a  plate  with 
a  hot  cake.  Grady  and  Molly  set  the 
plate  and  tankard  before  Goldsmith, 
ivho  still  sings  away,  regardless  of 
Grady's  looks  of  offended  astonishment 
and  Molly's  only  half-suppressed 
amusement.     Exit  MoLLY. 


i8         A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR 
BARBARA  ALLEN 


In      Scar  -  let  Town,  where 


was    born, 


±1 


There 


was 


a      fair     maid     dwel  -  lin' 


i 


^'- 


Who     made  the  youths    sigh    Well  -  a  -  day! 


Her 


name  was    Bar  -  b'ra       Al  -  len. 


Goldsmith 
[Eating.]     'Tis  not  so  well-flavored  a  cake  as  is  to 
be  had  at  the  Bull  in  Edgeworthstown.     [Takes  up  the 
tankard.]      This  ale    is   something   too   thin    for   me. 
[To  the  Squire.]     Have  you  none  headier? 

Squire  Featherston 

How  is  our  cellar,  Grady?    Have  we  another  brew 
of  ale? 

Grady 

[Stiffly.]     Never  a  one,  sir. 


A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR  19 

Goldsmith 

Ah,  well,  a  poor  drink  is  better  than  none.  [Drains 
the  tankard.]  'Tis  but  a  thin  brew  to  travel  on,  none 
the  less.  I  warrant  you  our  friend  yonder  [pointing  to 
Grady]  knows  a  secret  or  two  about  it.  The  water- 
butt's  a  trusty  helper  when  the  keg's  half  dry,  eh? 
Nay,  'tis  no  matter  [as  Grady  seejns  about  to  speak]. 
I  bear  no  ill-will,  'Tis  all  in  the  day's  journey  when 
one  takes  the  road.  And  now,  my  man  [to  Grady], 
do  you  tell  the  stable-lad  to  give  my  horse  another 
measure  of  oats.  [Grady  is  about  to  leave.]  And 
tell  him,  too,  that  he's  not  to  let  more  than  half  the 
measure  find  the  way  into  his  pocket.  Will  you  mind 
the  message,  now  ? 

Grady 

[Wfio  has  started  for  the  door,  turns  about,  facing 
Goldsmith,  and  gesticulates  violently  as  he  begins  to 
speak,  angrily.]  No,  I'll  not  be  after  minding  any 
such  message  as  that.  I've  heard  enough  from  you 
now.  I'll  carry  no  such  word  to  Tim  O'Rourke,  my 
own  cousin's  nephew's  son,  that's  known  to  everyone 
as  the  honestest  lad  in  the  parish,  and  me  recommend- 
ing him  to  the  master  for  the  place  here.  Is  it  in  a 
thieving  tavern  that  you  think  you  are,  indeed,  with 
your  talk  of  stealing  oats  and  watering  the  drink? 
Sure,  it's  in  a  low-lived  shebeen  that  you  deserve  to  be, 
with  your  manners  and  your  doings,  and  not  in  a  gen- 
tleman's house,  at  all ! 


20  A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR 

Goldsmith 

[Who  has  listened  to  the  tirade  in  open-mouthed 
astonishment.]     A  gentleman's  house! 

Squire  Featherston 

[To  Mrs.  Featherston.]  Ah,  madam,  now  that 
honest  Grady  has  taken  a  hand,  our  game  is  over,  j'ou 
see. 

Grady 

[Subsiding  somewhat.}  Your  honor'll  not  hold  it 
against  me,  I  hope,  that  I've  forgot  myself  for  a  min- 
ute, and  given  a  taste  o'  the  rough  side  of  my  tongue  to 
a  lad  that's  got  no  kind  of  manners  at  all !  'Twas  as 
much  as  flesh  and  blood  could  stand  to  see  a  buckeen 
like  him  yonder  misbehaving  to  you  and  the  mistress, 
and  you  so  considerate-like,  because,  faith,  it's  your 
visitor  he  is.  But  I  know  your  honor'd  never  wish  the 
characters  to  be  taken  away  from  your  servants,  and  me 
not  to  speak  for  them,  that's  so  proud  of  their  service 
with  the  Squire. 

Goldsmith 
[Who  has  grown  more  and  more  uneasy. '\     Proud — 
of  their  service — with  the  Squire? 

Grady 
[Turning  sharply  on  Goldsmith.]     Ah,  and  I  may 
well  say  that,  for  Squire  Featherston's  known  far  and 
wide  to  be  the  best  master,  and  the  finest  gentleman 
too,  in  all  the  county ! 


A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR  21 

Goldsmith 
[Looking  from  one  to  the  other.~\     Squire  Feather- 
ston? 

Squire  Featherston 
[Bowing  low.^     At  your  service,  my  young  friend. 

Goldsmith 
[Excitedly.']     What's  this  house  called,  then?     Has 
it  any  name?    Tell  me,  madam  [to  Mrs.  Feather- 
ston], pray! 

Mrs.  Featherston 
This    house    has    always    been    called    Featherston 
Manor  since  Sir  Richard  Featherston  built  it,  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  years  ago. 

Goldsmith 
[Rising  and  slapping  his  knee.]     Then  I've  been  a 
bigger  fool  than  anyone  ever  took  me  for — and  that's 
saying  a  great  deal ! 

Mrs.  Featherston 
[Taking  seat.]    Well,  at  any  rate,  I  suppose  I  may 
sit  down  in  my  own  house  now. 

Squire  Featherston 
[Genially.]      Nay,  never  mind  a  bit  of  folly,  my 
lad.     There's  many  a  wise  man  has  been  a  fool,  and 
the  world  no  whit  the  worse  for  it. 


22  A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR 

Goldsmith 
But  I've  been  the  very  greatest  fool  in  all  Ireland! 
Here  have  I  tumbled  myself  headforemost  into  a  gen- 
tleman's house,  and  given  everybody  tlie  same  orders 
as  though  'twas  my  own,  and  misconducted  myself 
mightily  altogether,  the  more  shame  to  me,  when  all 
the  while  'twas  only  the  guinea  I  had  to  spend  at  an 
inn,  that  was  burning  a  hole  in  my  pocket! 

Grady 

An  inn,  indeed !  And  was  it  an  inn  you  took  the 
Squire's  home  for,  and  his  honor  himself  for  the  inn- 
keeper?   Sure  that  caps  all! 

Mrs.  Featherston 
But  tell  us,  pray,  how  you  came  to  think  this  was 
an  inn. 

Goldsmith 
I  was  directed  here  straight  enough,  and  told  I'd 
find  the  best  inn  in  all  the  countryside. 

Squire  Featherston 
An  honor,  I'm  sure.     But  who  paid  us  the  compli- 
ment of  commending  us  so  highly? 

Goldsmith 
A  smooth-spoken  young  fellow  in  riding-boots  who 
was  strolling  along  the  road  a  half-mile  or  so  from 


A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR  23 

here,  as  I  was  coming  up  it.  He  was  so  ready  with  his 
tongue — ah!  Fd  like  nothing  better  than  to  say  a  few 
words  to  him  this  minute. 

Grady 

Riding-boots,  is  it?    And  did  you  take  any  notice  of 
his  hat,  now? 

Goldsmith 

There  was  a  sizable  cockade  in  it — yes,  and  'twas 
a  white  one. 

Grady 

The  rascal!    I've  got  him,  sure  enough! 

Squire  Featherston 

Ah,  Grady,   can  you  help  us  to  find  our  amiable 
patron  and  our  young  friend's  kind  guide? 

Grady 

I  can  fetch  him  up  here  in  no  more  than  the  shake 
of  a  lamb's  tail,  if  your  honor  will  give  me  leave. 

Squire  Featherston 
By  all  means,  let  us  make  his  acquaintance. 

Grady 

Very  well,  your  honor. 

[Exit. 


24  A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR 

Goldsmith 
[Hanging  his  head.]     'Tis  not  the  first  blunder  I've 
made,  nor  is  it  likely  to  be  the  last ;  but  I'm  distressed 
that  I  cut  so  sorry  a  figure  in  this  house. 

Squire  Featherston 
Nay,  a  word  has  set  it  all  straight.  'Twas  a  trans- 
parent blunder  enough,  and  our  evening  here,  as 
Madam  will  tell  you,  has  been  the  less  dull  for  your 
little  adventure;  so  there  is  something  to  be  counted 
on  the  credit  side  of  your  score. 

[Grady  appears  in  the  doorway,  followed 
by  Kelly^  who  has  as  ?nuch  of  a  siuog- 
gering  air  about  him  as  is  compatible 
with  his  respect  for  the  Squire. 

Goldsmith 
There's  the  very  fellow  now!     [To  the  Squire.] 
Do  you  but  ask  him  what  he  told  me. 

Grady 

I've  got  him  to  come  up,  your  honor;  but  he  de- 
clares he  told  the  young  gentleman  not  a  word  but  what 
was  true,  and  how  to  come  at  the  rights  of  that  I  don't 
know.  [To  Molly,  who  enters  with  a  tray.]  You've 
no  need  here  at  all,  my  girl. 

Molly 
[Timidly.]     I  thought  his  honor  might  be  wanting 
the  dishes  cleared  off. 


A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR  25 

Squire  Featherston 
I  suspect  Molly  has  something  besides  dishes  on  her 
mind.  Let  her  stay,  Grady,  if  her  mistress  [boiuing  to 
Mrs.  Featherston]  is  willing.  [To  Kelly.]  Well, 
Kelly,  my  young  friend  here  has  a  crow  to  pluck  with 
you,  and  I've  a  mind  to  stand  by  and  see  the  plucking. 

Goldsmith 
IRuefully.}    A  crow,  indeed !    The  bird  in  that  bar- 
gain was  more  likely  a  gull!     [To  Kelly.]     What 
did  you  make  a  fool  of  me  last  night  for,  misdirecting 
me  when  I  asked  a  straight  question? 

Kelly 
I  didn't  misdirect  you,  anyway  whatever. 

Grady 
Hark  to  that  now! 

Goldsmith 
[Indignantly.']     How  have  you  the  face  to  tell  me 
that!     Didn't  I  ask  you  for  the  best  house  in  all  the 
countryside,  and  didn't  you  tell  me  to  go  on  till  I  came 
here? 

Kelly 
Well,   and  where  will  you  find  a  better  house  in 
Ardagh  than  Featherston  Manor,  I'd  like  to  know? 
[Pause.     The  Squire  begins  to  chuckle. 


26  A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR 

Goldsmith 
But  it  was  an  inn  I  asked  you  for,  man! 

Kelly 
'Twas  a  house  you  said,  and  'twas  a  house  I  sent 
you  to,  and  never  a  better  one  in  all  Ireland,  nor  one 
with  a  better  master  or  mistress  to  it.  Who's  to  blame 
if  we  were  at  cross-purposes  in  our  talk?  Sure,  you 
were  so  proud-like  that  there  was  no  stopping  you  when 
you  once  got  started  on  your  road. 

Squire  Featherston 

The  clouds  begin  to  lift.  [To  Goldsmith.]  Do 
you  see,  now,  how  we  came  by  the  honor  of  j^our 
patronage  ? 

Goldsmith 

I  see  that  I'd  best  have  stayed  at  old  Paddy  Byrne's 
school  and  minded  my  book  with  him,  blockhead  that  I 
am !  'Twould  have  been  better  than  going  to  the  fine 
school  at  Edgeworthtown,  that  I'm  on  my  way  home 
from  now,  and  disgracing  everybody  there,  and  my 
poor  father  at  Lissoy  into  the  bargain.  Won't  they  all 
say  when  they  hear  of  it,  "  What  else  but  folly  did 
anyone  ever  expect  of  Parson  Goldsmith's  Noll  ?  Sure, 
he  was  born  a  fool,  and  a  fool  he'll  stay." 

Squire  Featherston 
Parson  Goldsmith  of  Lissoy,  you  say  your  father  is? 
Not  the  Charles  Goldsmith  who  took  orders  in  the 
year  fourteen? 


A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR  27 

Goldsmith 

He  was  ordained  in  the  very  year  the  Queen  died, 
I've  often  heard  him  say. 

Squire  Featherston 

Why,  this  is  a  meeting,  indeed !  My  dear  [to  Mrs. 
Featherston],  allow  me  to  present  to  you  the  son 
of  my  old  college-mate  at  Trinity.  [Mrs.  Feather- 
ston courtesies.  Goldsmith  bows.^  Many  a  lec- 
ture his  father  and  I  dozed  through  side  by  side,  while 
good  Dr.  Longley  was  droning  his  way  through  the 
metaphysics.  But  I  woke  up  and  went  on  to  livelier 
doings,  while  he  had  to  put  on  the  surplice  and  bands  at 
his  patron's  bidding.  Ah,  well,  he  was  cut  out  for  a 
parson,  and  I'll  warrant  he  makes  a  good  one. 

Goldsmith 

The  Lissoy  people  can  tell  you  enough  about  that. 
There's  no  vicar  that  they'll  admit  to  be  the  equal  of 
theirs.  But  [hanging  his  head]  I'm  afraid  they'd  not 
give  the  same  character  to  his  son  Noll.  They'd  have 
fine  tales  to  tell  you  of  his  blunderings,  and  now  here's 
another  added  to  them,  and  the  worst  of  them  all. 

Squire  Featherston 

Nay,  my  lad,  the  blunder  is  over  and  done  with,  and 
a  friend — or  two  friends,  if  I  know  Madam  as  well 
as   I    should — come   out   of   it    for   you.      I    suppose. 


28         A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR 

though,  there's  a  score  to  be  settled  with  your  guide 
here.  [Looking  at  Kelly,  with  something  of  an  air 
of  severity.] — 'Twas  not  precisely  in  the  bargain,  when 
I  hired  him  to  see  to  my  horses,  that  he  should  turn 
me  into  an  innkeeper. 

Molly 
[Coming  forward,  deprecatingly.]     Oh,  sure,  your 
honor'd  not  be  too  hard  on  the  lad  for  a  bit  of  a  joke! 

Squire  Featherston 
Well,   we  shall  hear  how  our  guest  is  minded   in 
the    matter.      [To    Goldsmith.]     Should    not    my 
ready-tongued  gentleman  yonder  pay  something  of  a 
penalty  for  his  prank? 

Goldsmith 
Why,  sir,  if  you  will  hearken  to  me.  Master  Kelly 
may  go  back  to  his  stables  with  a  clean  slate.     'Twas 
nothing  but  my  own  folly  that  led  to  it  all,  and  I  want 
no  one  else  to  do  the  paying  for  it. 

Squire  Featherston 
[To  Mrs.  Featherston.]  What  say  j^ou,  madam? 
Shall  it  be  as  our  young  friend  would  have  it? 

Mrs.  Featherston 
'Twas  a  sad  idle  trick  to  be  sure,  to  make  an  inn  of 
Featherston  Manor,  and  an  innkeeper's  wife  of  its  mis- 


A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR  29 

tress.     But — bygones  are   best  let  to  be  bygones,   I 
suppose. 

Squire  Featherston 
[To  Kelly.]  Well,  since  the  two  ladies  are  for 
having  it  so,  there's  naught  for  it  but  to  wipe  out  the 
score.  So  get  you  back  to  the  stables,  and  see  that  our 
visitor's  horse  is  ready  for  the  road.  [To  Molly.] 
And  do  you  go  with  the  rascal  and  preach  him  a 
sound  sermon  about  keeping  out  of  mischief. 

Molly 
I  will  that,  your  honor.    And  thank  you  kindly  for 
not  holding  his  mischievous  ways  against  him.      [To 
Goldsmith.]     And  I'll  say  thank  you  to  you,  too, 
sir,  for  bearing  no  malice. 

Kelly 

[To  Squire  and  Mrs.  Featherston.]     Service, 

your  honors!    [To  Goldsmith.]    'Twas  a  good  house 

with  a  good  master  I  sent  you  to  after  all,  you  see,  sir. 

[Molly  pulls  him  sharply  by  the  sleeve. 

Exeunt  Kelly  and  Molly. 

Grady 
[To  Goldsmith.]     Sure,  and  if  I  may  be  so  bold, 
I'd  like  to  say  myself  that  I'm  sorry  for  having  been 
so  free  with  my  tongue  to  a  young  gentleman  that's 
got  the  kind  heart  like  your  own. 


30         A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR 

Goldsmith 

Ah,  well,  the  wiseacres  will  be  shaking  their  head 
over  Noll  Goldsmith's  folly  many  a  time,  I  make  no 
doubt.  Town  or  country,  man  or  boy,  'twill  be  all 
one  to  him,  I'm  thinking;  for  his  soft  heart  will  lead 
him  into  many  a  scrape  that  a  better  head  than  his 
would  be  bothered  to  get  out  of.  The  best  he  can  do 
will  be  to  make  a  bit  of  a  song  or  tell  a  merry  tale 
about  his  silly  doings,  so  that  the  other  folk  may  have  a 
laugh  when  they  are  well  over.  And  that  reminds  me. 
Squire,  there  were  some  lines  came  into  my  foolish 
noddle,  as  I  was  riding  through  the  lane  yesterday, 
about  the  death  of  a  mad  dog.  'Tis  a  sweet  subject. 
Shall  I  make  a  shift  to  let  you  hear  them  before  I  go  ? 
'Tis  all  that  I  can  do  to  make  amends  for  my  misdoings 
at  Featherston  Manor.  [To  Mrs.  Featherston.] 
Have  I  your  leave,  madam?  [Mrs.  Featherston 
inclines  her  head.'\  \_To  the  Squire.]  And  yours, 
sir?  [The  Squire  nods  assent.']  'Twill  not  be  long, 
I  promise  you. 

[Goldsmith  takes  center  of  stage,  and  be- 
gins to  sing  *  (or  recite),  "  Good  people 
all — "  Grady,  at  side  table,  beats 
time;  Squire  and  Mrs.  Featherston 
follow  attentively,  smiling.  Molly  and 
Kelly  are  seen  listening  at  door. 


♦Madame  Liza  Lehmann's  very  effective  setting  to  this 
ballad  may  be  procured  at  any  establishment  where  music 
is  sold.  If  the  Goldsmith  of  the  occasion  prefers  to  omit 
the  singing,  the  "  Elegy  "  may  be  recited  instead  of  sung. 


A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR         31 

SONG 
ELEGY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  MAD  DOG 

Good  people  all,  of  every  sort, 

Give  ear  unto  my  song; 
And  if  you  find  it  wondrous  short 

It  cannot  keep  you  long. 

In  Islington  there  lived  a  man 

Of  whom  the  world  did  say 
That  still  a  godly  race  he  ran 

Whene'er  he  went  to  pray. 

A  kind  and  gentle  heart  he  had 

To  comfort  friends  and  foes; 
The  naked  every  day  he  clad. 

When  he  put  on  his  clothes. 

And  in  that  town  a  dog  was  found, 

As  many  dogs  there  be. 
Both  mongrel,  puppy,  whelp,  and  hound. 

And  curs  of  low  degree. 

This  dog  and  man  at  first  were  friends, 

But  when  a  pique  began. 
The  dog,  to  gain  his  private  ends, 

Went  mad,  and  bit  the  man. 

Around  from  all  the  neighboring  streets 

The  wondering  neighbors  ran. 
And  swore  the  dog  had  lost  his  wits 

To  bite  so  good  a  man. 


32         A  MISTAKE  AT  THE  MANOR. 

The  wound  it  seem'd  both  sore  and  sad 

To  every  Christian  eye, 
And  while  they  swore  the  dog  was  mad, 

They  swore  the  man  would  die. 

But  soon  a  wonder  came  to  light 
That  show'd  the  rogues  they  lied ; 

The  man  recover'd  of  the  bite, 
The  dog  it  was  that  died. 


WHEN   HEINE   WAS   TWENTY- 
ONE 


The  incidents  in  this  play  are  suggested  by  the  facts 
of  Heinrich  Heine's  life  as  related  by  his  biographers 
and  revealed  in  his  poems  and  letters.  We  know  that 
the  poet's  unrequited  love  for  his  cousin  Amalie 
(Molly)  was  the  theme  of  most  of  the  beautiful  lyrics 
that  appeared  In  his  first  volume  of  poetry;  and  we 
know  that  the  wealthy  banker,  Salomon  Heine,  would 
have  preferred  a  steady-going  nephew  with  a  talent  for 
finance  to  the  erratic  genius  who  formed  part  of  the 
Hamburg  household  about  the  year  1820. 


35 


WHEN    HEINE   WAS   TWENTY- 
ONE 

CHARACTERS 

Heinrich  Heine,  aged  twenty-one. 

Salomon  Heine,  a  banker,  Heinrich's  uncle. 

Kellermann,  a  clerk. 

Christian  Sethe,  a  student  of  jurisprudence,  Hein- 
rich Heine's  friend. 

Herr  Maier,  a  merchant,  Salomon  Heine's  friend. 

Professor  Mertens,  head  of  the  Hamburg  Gym- 
nasium. 

Molly,  Salomon  Heine's  daughter. 

A  maid. 

Time:  1821. 

The  Scene  is  the  living-room  in  the  house  of  Salo- 
mon Heine,  in  Hamburg.  The  furniture  is  solid 
and  comfortable,  but  very  ugly.  On  each  side  of  the 
room  is  a  large  desk  well  supplied  with  writing  ma- 
terials. At  the  desk  to  the  right  is  seated  Heinrich 
Heine,  writing  a  letter.  Christian  Sethe  is  in  an 
armchair  beside  a  table,  reading  a  small  volume. 
Heine  lays  down  his  quill  pen,  sprinkles  sand  over  his 
paper,  then  after  a  moment,  folds  the  letter,  picks  up  his 
pen,  and  writes  the  superscription. 

37 


38      WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE 

Sethe 
[Reading  aloud.'\ 

*  Ein   Fichtenhaum   stelit  cinsam, 
Im  Norden,  attf  kahler  Ilbh' ; 
Iliii  scliUifert;  mit  njsdsser  Decke 
Umhiillen  ihn  Eis  und  Schnee. 

Er  fraumt  'von   e'uicr  Palme, 

Die,   fern   im   Morgenland, 
Einsam   mid  scliwcigend  trauert 

Auf  hrennender  Felsennsjand. 

(Alone   in  the  dreary  northland, 

A   pine-tree   stands  on   a  height, 
Asleep,  while   about  his  branches 
Fall   snowflakes  thick  and  white. 

His   dreams  are  all   of   a  palm-tree, 

Afar    in    the    southern    land, 
That  grieves  through  the  weary  hours, 

Alone   'mid   the   burning   sand.) 

[Laying  the  book  down.] 

That  deserves  a  bravo,  old  comrade!  But  I  beg  your 
pardon.     I  should  not  interrupt. 

Heine 

[Flinging  his  pen  dozen  and  springing  up  noisily.] 
There !  I  have  made  my  bow  to  the  very  last  corre- 
spondent of  the  morning  who  wants  to  cheat  my  uncle 
or  be  cheated  by  him ! 

Sethe 

[A?nused.~\  Apparently  your  uncle  has  curious  cor- 
respondents. 

♦The  translations  of  the  German  poetry  may  be  substi- 
tuted for  the  original  in  case  audience  or  players  are  un- 
familiar with   German. 


WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE      39 
Heine 

Not  curious  in  the  least.  What  I  remarked  was 
that  I  had  finished  answering  the  business  letters  of 
the  bank  of  Salomon  Heine  and  Company  for  to-day. 
[In  a  tone  of  disgust.]  Pah!  This  house  reeks  of 
business!  There's  no  escaping  from  it!  Here  in  the 
living-room,  where  every  other  fat  and  greasy  citizen 
of  Hamburg  is  content  to  smoke,  and  read  The 
Watchman,  and  leave  other  folks  in  peace,  my  uncle 
must  have  a  couple  of  desks  set  up — one  for  me  and  one 
for  old  Kellermann — so  that  on  days  when  the  counting- 
house  is  closed,  the  machinery  of  answering  the  eternal 
letters  can  be  kept  revolving  as  steadily  as  ever.  Two 
hours  of  my  morning  gone  to-day, — when  the  evening 
must  be  wasted  in  being  polite  to  the  stupid  merchants 
and  their  stupider  wives  who  are  coming  to  the  indi- 
gestible dinner  my  uncle  is  going  to  give  them  to-night! 
But  now  I  am  free  for  a  time — free  for  a  walk  and  a 
talk — a  talk  of  the  old  times  in  Diisseldorf  and  the 
new  times  in  Hamburg!  Ah!  [placing  his  hands  on 
Christian's  shoulders]  but  it  is  good  to  see  you  again, 
Christian,  old  fellow!  How  I  grudge  the  minutes  you 
had  to  spend  in  waiting  for  me  to  break  loose  from  my 
chains ! 

Sethe 

The  time  passed  pleasantly  enough  for  me.  Was  I 
not  reading  the  works  of  a  poet  who  will  surely  be 
known  as  one  of  the  first  men  of  his  century? 


40      WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE 

Heine 

[Laughing.]  So  you  remember  that  old  jest  of 
mine?    What  a  pity  that  it  can  never  be  quite  true! 

Sethe 
From  December  13,  1799,  to  January  i,  1800,  is 
only  a  few  days.     You  were  born  only  a  little  on  the 
wrong  side  of  the  century,  after  all. 

Heine 
That  was  a  bad  beginning.     I  shall  always  be  just  a 
little  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  things  I  should  like  to 
claim  as  my  own,  I  fear. 

Sethe 
Does  that  mean  that  she  has  been  less  kind  than  usual 
since  you  last  wrote  to  me,  I  wonder? 

Heine 

Molly?  She  is  always  kind.  She  doesn't  know  how 
to  be  anything  else.  She  is  kind  to  the  little  errand-boys 
in  the  counting-house,  kind  to  the  stupid  stock-brokers 
of  forty  that  come  to  dine  here  so  that  they  may  hear  all 
the  latest  rates  of  exchange  quoted  over  their  strong 
coffee;  and  kindest  of  all  to  me  and  to  her  mother's 
fat  old  lapdog.  For  twenty-three  hours  and  forty-five 
minutes  out  of  the  twenty-four  hours  I  can  succeed  in 
forgetting  about  the  errand-boys  and  the  money-chang- 
ers and  the  lapdog,  and  remember  only  that  she  smiles 


WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE      41 

when  I  speak  to  her;  but  then  there  are  the  other  fifteen 
minutes,  and  they  come  every  day,  and  they  give  me  a 
wickedly  bad  quarter  of  an  hour,  I  assure  you. 

Sethe 

Can  you  not  depend  on  your  poems  to  give  you  an 
advantage  over  the  others? 

Heine 

Ah,  yes;  the  poems — they  ought  to  go  on  the  credit 
side  of  the  ledger.  But  then  there  is  my  promise  to  her 
father  to  give  up  meddling  with  rhymes  and  to  use 
pen  and  ink  and  paper  only  for  adding  up  marks  and 
pfennigs — that  will  have  to  be  put  dow^n  on  the  debit 
side.  Isn't  that  a  pretty  commercial  metaphor?  You 
see,  I  have  not  lived  in  Hamburg  for  two  years  with- 
out profiting  by  it. 

[Goes  to  a  table  at  the  side  of  the  room  and 

busies  himself  with  a  pack  of  cards  lying 

on  it. 

Sethe 
What  are  you  doing? 

Heine 

Hush !  don't  speak  so  loud !  I  am  building  a  wonder- 
ful house  of  cards.  See  how  high  it  is!  And  on  the 
very  summit  Molly  and  I  are  standing  quite  alone  to- 
gether, and  my  arms  are  clasped  about  her.    Ah!  but 


42      WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE 

it  takes  only  a  breath  to  wreck  it  all!     [In  a  changed 
tone,  as  the  door  opens.'\     There!     It  is  down! 

[Kellermann  enters.  He  is  about  fifty- 
five,  slow  of  speech,  short-sighted,  ivith 
spectacles  pushed  up  on  his  forehead, 
and  a  quill  pen  stuck  behind  his  ear. 
He  carries  a  bundle  of  letters,  and  is  at 
first  much  preoccupied  luith  his  business 
duties. 

Kellermann 

Good-morning,  Herr  Heinrich.  Are  the  letters  for 
the  Frankfort  post  ready?  [Perceiving  Sethe.]  Your 
servant,  Sir. 

Heine 

Here  they  are,  Kellermann.  [Crossing  to  desk  and 
taking  letters.]  Every  i  is  nicely  dotted  and  every  lie 
is  told  as  politely  as  even  j'ou  could  do  it  with  all  your 
forty  years'  experience  as  corresponding  clerk. 

Kellermann 
[Deprecatingly.]     But,  Herr  Heinrich! 


Heine 

Oh!  I  know  you  have  the  utmost  respect  for  the 
lies  that  a  banker's  figures  tell.  To  be  sure  they  have 
always  told  the  same  tale  to  my  uncle  Salomon,  and 
it  has  been  a  tale  well  worth  listening  to  when  the 


WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE      43 

balance  is  struck  at  the  end  of  each  year.  It  is  only 
poetry  that  doesn't  tell  lies  profitably;  eh,  Kellermann? 
But  you  must  let  me  present  my  friend  Christian  Sethe, 
student  of  jurisprudence,  from  Diisseldorf.  Think  of 
it,  he  has  come  all  the  distance  out  of  his  way  from 
Hildesheim,  where  his  errand  was,  to  see  for  himself 
how  the  good-for-nothing  idler,  Harry  Heine,  managed 
to  breathe  in  this  money-laden  Hamburg  air  of  yours. 

Kellermann 
Ach,  Herr  Sethe,  you  must  not  believe  all  that 
Herr  Heinrich  says  of  himself.  We  are  so  proud  of 
him  here  since  he  really  began  to  think  of  business.  At 
first,  of  course,  the  poetry-making  got  in  his  way  a 
little.  But  now,  ever  since  he  promised  his  uncle  to 
give  it  up,  no  one  could  do  better  than  he. 

Sethe 
So?     He  has  promised  to  give  it  up? 

Kellermann 

Yes;  it  is  over  a  year  ago  since  his  uncle  made  the 
bargain  with  him.  I  heard  it  made.  [With  dignity. ~\ 
Ah,  I  may  say  that  I  am  almost  one  of  the  family  about 
such  affairs.  Herr  Salomon  always  takes  me  into  his 
confidence  when  there  are  any  business  matters  going 
on. 

Heine 

\^Drily.~\  And  when  are  there  not  business  matters 
going  on  in  this  house ;  eh,  Kellermann  ? 


44       WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE 

Kellermann 

[In  a  tone  of  great  pride.]  Yes,  you  may  well  ask 
that.  No  house  in  Hamburg  can  equal  the  house  of 
Salomon  Heine  for  business.  But  as  I  was  saying, 
Herr  Sethe — over  a  year  ago,  in  this  very  room,  Herr 
Salomon  found  Herr  Heinrich  making  rhj'mes  when 
there  was  a  letter  from  the  Herr  von  Rothschild  in 
England  to  be  answered,  and  he  said,  "  Now,  I  have 
had  enough  of  this  folly.  H  you  want  to  be  a  poet, 
then  be  a  poet;  if  you  want  to  be  a  banker,  you  shall 
have  your  chance  with  me ;  but  poetry  and  banking  do 
not  belong  together  in  the  house  of  Salomon  Heine. 
Take  your  choice,"  said  he,  just  so,  "  stop  this  rhym- 
ing nonsense,  stick  to  your  work,  and  in  two  years' 
time  I  will  give  you  a  business  for  yourself  such  as  my 
nephew  ought  to  have ;  or  go  on  with  your  poetry  and 
see  what  you  can  make  of  that.  But  not  here  in  Ham- 
burg," he  said,  "  where  we  have  other  things  to  think 
of  than  whether  '  love  '  goes  with  '  dove.'  "  And  so 
Herr  Heinrich,  like  a  sensible  young  gentleman,  made 
his  bargain,  and  gave  up  all  his  poetry-making,  and  one 
of  these  days  the  world  will  hear  of  the  great  banker 
Heinrich  Heine — is  it  not  so,  Herr  Heinrich? 

Heine 

Yes,  Kellermann,  there  is  no  telling  what  the  world 
may  hear  of  Heinrich  Heine.  Meanwhile  there  is 
something  that  my  uncle  is  going  to  hear  about  him — 
and  I  think  he  had  better  hear  it  from  you. 


WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE      45 

Kellermann 
[Anxiously.]     You  have  not  been  getting  into  any 
trouble,  I  hope,  Herr  Heinrich? 

Heine 
Who  knows?  I  have  been  getting  into  print,  at  any 
rate.  I  have  had  a  volume  of  my  poems  published,  and 
the  publisher  has  written  to  me  to  say  that  the  Ham- 
burg papers  are  going  to  print  reviews  of  it  to-day. 
You  had  better  break  the  news  to  my  uncle  while  I 
show  Herr  Sethe  the  sights  of  the  Alster  Bassin. 
Never  mind,  old  friend.  [Clapping  Kellermann  on 
the  back.]  Uncle  Salomon  is  in  a  specially  good  humor 
to-day  about  something,  I  am  sure.  He  invited  Herr 
Sethe  to  the  dinner  party  to-night  as  hospitably  as  if 
he  had  discounted  a  score  of  bills  for  his  father  at  the 
most  favorable  rates. 

Kellermann 
[In  a  tone  of  consternation.]     But,  Herr  Heinrich, 
you  can  never  mean  it,  that  after  all  your  uncle  said 
you  have  really  been  writing  more  of  your  poetry! 

Sethe 
It's  really  very  nice  poetry,   Herr  Kellermann.     I 
have  the  volume  here.    Listen  to  some  of  it.     [Reads]  : 

Im  ivundersc/idnen  Monat  Mat, 

Als   alle   Knospen   sprangen, 
Da  ist  in  meinem  Herzen 

Die  Liebe  aufgegangen. 


46      WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE 

Im    ivunderschonen   Monat  Mai, 

A  Is  alle  Vogel  sang  en. 
Da  hah'  ich  ilir  gestanden 

Mein  Sehnen  und  I'erlangen. 

(In  the  month  of  the  lovely  Majtime, 

When    the    buds    thrilled    with    the    spring. 
Then   first   I   heard   within   my  heart 
Love's  tender  whispering. 

In  the  month  of   the  lovely  Maytime, 

When  the  birds  sang  on  each  spray, 
I   found  courage   then   to  tell   her 

All  that  my  heart  would  say.) 

Now  isn't  that  pretty? 

Kellermann 

Herr  Sethe,  Herr  Sethe,  what  do  I  know  about 
such  things?  All  that  I  have  to  do  is  to  see  that  my 
books  balance,  and  then  I  can  smoke  my  pipe  and  take 
a  walk  in  the  evening  without  troubling  myself  about 
birds  and  buds  and  sprays.  But  what  will  Herr 
Salomon  say?  After  Herr  Heinrich's  promise  and 
all — just  when  he  was  so  proud  of  him. 

Heine 

[Nonchalantly.]  Well,  Kellermann,  you  must  do 
your  best  for  me.  The  fat  will  be  in  the  fire  by 
the  time  my  uncle  goes  out  for  his  afternoon 
walk, — if  it  hasn't  got  there  by  now.  Don't  let  me 
get  too  badly  burned  by  it  if  you  can  help  it,  old 
colleague.  You  know  you  always  said  I  could  make 
the   neatest   figures   of   anyone   in   the   office.      Come, 


WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE      47 

Christian   [to  Sethe],  if  we  staj'  too  long  my  uncle 
will    be   here,    and    we    must   not   intrude   upon    any 
confidential  communications  Kellermann  may  have  to 
make   to  him.     Auf  wiedersehen,   Kellermann!      We 
shall  not  be  away  very  long,  so  get  it  over  comfort- 
ably, do  you  hear?  [Exeunt  Heine  and  Sethe. 
[Kellermann  walks  up  and  down,  shak- 
ing his  head,  catches  sight  of  the  volume 
of  poetry  which  Sethe  has  left  behind, 
picks  it  up,  opens  it,  and  begins  to  read: 

Ich  iveiss  n't c lit  ivas  soil  es  bedeuten, 
Dass  ich  so  traurig  bin. 

(I  know  not  what  is  the  meaning 
That  I  am  sad  at  heart.) 

Kellermann 

Traurig  indeed ! 

[The  door  opens,  and  Salomon  Heine 
appears.  He  is  about  fifty,  pompous 
and  important,  luith  a  touch  of  irri- 
tability evident  in  his  tnanner.  He 
wears  a  smoking  jacket,  and  carries  a 
pipe  in  one  hand,  some  folded  news- 
papers in  the  other. 

Kellermann 

[Stopping  short  in  his  walk  and  hastily  stuffing  the 
book  into  his  pocket.^     Good  morning,  Herr  Heine! 


48      WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE 

Salomon 
[Drawing  the  armchair  up  to  a  table  and  seating 
himself  comfortably.  He  does  not  look  at  Keller- 
MANN  while  speaking,  and  so  does  not  observe  the 
latter  s  perturbation.]  Morning,  Kellermann!  Every- 
thing in  order? 

Kellermann 
Yes,  Herr  Heine — that  is 

Salomon 
Did    Herr    Heinrich    get    the    Frankfort    letters 
written  ? 

Kellermann 
[Eagerly   showing  letters.]      The  letters   were   all 
ready  before  he  went  out,  Herr  Heine.     See,  I  have 
them  all. 

Salomon 
[Taking  letters,  unfolding  the?n.]  Hm-m-m;  yes, 
very  good,  all  correct.  He  has  turned  out  better  than 
I  expected,  after  all.  In  another  year  he  will  make  as 
good  a  banker  as  though  he  had  been  brought  up 
under  my  own  roof.  Matters  have  been  different  ever 
since  I  drove  that  poetry-making  out  of  his  head.  I 
knew  that,  as  soon  as  he  got  rid  of  that  folly  once  for 
all,  we  should  find  him  good  for  something.  And  I 
was  right.    Is  it  not  so,  Kellermann? 


WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE      49 

Kellermann 
[Hesitatingly.^      Yes,   Herr   Heine,   of  course  you 
were  right — of  course 


Salomon 
[In  a  tone  of  satisfaction.^  Ah,  I  do  not  make  mis- 
takes. I  could  see  that  in  spite  of  all  the  verse-monger- 
ing  he  was  a  true  Heine,  who  would  help  to  make  the 
house  of  Salomon  Heine  the  greatest  in  all  Hamburg — 
who  knows,  perhaps  in  all  Germany?  In  that  stupid 
nest  of  a  Diisseldorf,  where  no  one  hears  of  anything 
but  Rheinwein  and  poetry,  poetry  and  Rheinwein,  what 
was  the  wonder  that  he  should  talk  of  being  a  poet? 
But  here  in  Hamburg  there  are  sensible  things  to 
think  of,  Providence  be  praised.  The  letters  to  the 
post  now,  Kellermann. 

[Begins  to  read  a  paper. 

[Kellermann    starts   towards    the    door, 

opens  itj  closes  it  again,  comes  back  into 

the  room,  goes  towards  the  door  again, 

returns  once  more. 

Salomon 
[Looking  up,  and  speaking  sharply,  in  a  tone  of  sur- 
prise.']     Is   there  anything  the  matter  with   you   this 
morning,  Kellermann? 

Kellermann 
[Confusedly.']     No — nothing,  Herr  Salomon. 


50      WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE 
Salomon 

Then  go,  and  let  me  read  my  paper  in  peace,  and  do 
not  dance  back  and  forth  like  a  foolish  marionette  on 
a  string.  [Kellermann  remains  where  he  is  for  a 
moment,  then  goes  through  the  same  proceeding  as 
before.'l  Something  does  ail  3'ou,  I  see.  [Laying  the 
paper  down.~\  Out  with  it.  What  do  you  want  to 
tell  me? 

Kellermann 

Nothing,  Herr  Heine — only — I  have  been  reading 
some  very  interesting  poetry  lately. 

Salomon 

[/«  a  tone  of  exasperation.^  Is  that  what  you  have 
to  say  to  me?    Have  you  lost  your  senses? 

Kellermann 

[In  greater  confusion  than  before.'\  No,  Herr 
Heine — but  I  thought — perhaps  you  might  like  to  hear 
some  of  it.  [Takes  volume  out  of  his  pocket  and  reads 
with  an  attempt  at  being  impressive^  : 


Im  nvunderschiinen  Monat  Mai, 
Als   alle   Knospen   sprangert, 

Da   ist  in   meinem   Herzen 
Die  Liebe  aufgegangen. 

Im  ivunderschonen  Monat  Mai- 


WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE      51 

(In  the  month  of  the  lovely  Maytime, 

When  the  buds  thrilled  with  the  spring, 
Then  first  I  heard  within  my  heart 
Love's  tender  whispering. 

In  the  month  of  the  lovely  Maytime — ) 

Salomon 
[Interrupting^  angrily.'\     What  ridiculous  nonsense 
have  you  there  ? 

Kellermann 
[With  a  great  effort.'\      No  nonsense  at  all,  Herr 
Heine.     See  for  yourself.  [Hands  him  the  book. 

Salomon 
[Lays  it  down  contemptuously  at  first,  then  the  title 
catches  his  eye.  He  picks  it  up  and  reads,  first  in  a 
puzzled  tone,  and  then  indignantly.^  "  '  Junge  Leiden 
[Youth's  Sorrows],  by  Heinrich  Heine.'"  "'Junge 
Leiden  [Youth's  Sorrows],  by  Heinrich  Heine'"! 
What  Heinrich  Heine?  My  nephew!  [Keller- 
mann nods.'\     The  good-for-nothing  fellow! 

[Slams  the  book  down  violently. 

Kellermann 
[Timidly.^      But  will  you   not   read   some   of   the 
poetry,    Herr   Heine? 

Salomon 
A  poet!     After  all  that  I  have  done  for  him!     To 
have  my  nephew  here  in  my  own  house,  so  that  he 


52      WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE 

might  miss  no  single  opportunity  of  learning  how  to 
manage  a  bank — and  then  to  have  him  write  verses, 
as  though  he  were  nothing  better  than  a  beggarly  wan- 
dering student.  And  to  print  them,  too!  It  is  more 
than  I  will  endure !  Thirty  years  have  I  lived  in 
Hamburg,  and  been  respected  from  the  beginning,  and 
now  that  I  am  Salomon  Heine  and  Company,  this 
empty-headed  nephew  of  mine  must  bring  shame  upon 
me  by  his  imbecility!  Let  him  go  back  to  the  Rhine, 
and  write  his  verses  among  others  like  himself.  We 
shall  see  how  he  will  make  his  way  there  with  his 
nonsensical  follies! 

Kellermann 
But,  Herr  Heine! 

Salomon 

Do  not  say  a  word !  Ah,  we  shall  see  how  he  will 
get  along  when  he  has  only  the  publishers  to  depend 
upon.  There  are  not  many  who  would  willingly 
throw  away  their  connection  with  the  house  of  Salo- 
mon Heine!  Just  when  I  had  been  boasting  to  every- 
one how  sensible  he  had  become !  I  shall  be  the  laugh- 
ing-stock of  all  Hamburg! 

[J  maid  enters. 

Maid 
Herr  Maier  to  see  Herr  Heine! 


WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE      53 

Salomon 

Is  the  whole  world  upside-down  this  morning?  My 
nephew  turns  poet,  and  my  dinner  guests  come  at 
luncheon  time! 

[Enter  Herr  MaieR^  a  rotund,  comfort- 
able-looking man  of  about  Salomon 
Heine's  age.  He  has  a  newspaper  in 
his  hand.     Exit  maid. 

Maier 

[To  Kellermann.]  Good-morning,  Kellermann. 
[To  Salomon.]  I  should  not  be  here  in  the  morn- 
ing, I  know,  but  as  soon  as  I  read  it  in  the  paper,  I 
wished  to  be  one  of  the  first  to  congratulate  you. 

Salomon 
Congratulate  me!    The  newspapers  surely 


Maier 

Do  you  mean  to  say  you  have  not  seen  The  Watch- 
man? 

Salomon 

I  have  no  time  for  The  Watchman.  There  are  the 
Exchange  rates  to  be  read ;  and  the  foreign  dispatches 
and  the  column  from  Berlin.  Even  if  it  is  a  holi- 
day— absolute  idleness  is  only  for  you  merchants,  not 
for  us  bankers. 


54      WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE 

Maier 

Yes,  yes,  we  all  know  no  grass  grows  under  the  feet 
of  Salomon  Heine.  But  you  have  all  the  luck!  To 
have  under  one  roof  the  most  flourishing  bank  in  all 
Hamburg  and  the — what  it  is?  [Unfolds  paper  and 
reads:]  "  The  poet  who  gives  promise  of  being  one  of 
the  greatest  in  all  Germany." 

Salomon 

What  is  that  you  are  reading? 

Maier 

Why,  the  review  of  your  Heinrich's  poems  from  to- 
day's Watchman.  I  had  forgotten  you  said  you  had 
not  read  it.  I  will  read  it  to  you.  I  was  proud  of 
him  myself,  I  declare,  when  I  read  it.  [Reads.] 
"'In  "  Junge  Leiden"  [Youth's  Sorrows],  published 
by  Maurer  of  Berlin,  Herr  Heinrich  Heine,  of  Ham- 
burg, has  produced  a  volume  of  poems  which  seems  to 
promise  a  new  awakening  of  the  long  slumbering  muse 
of  German  song.  All  the  romance  of  the  Rhineland, 
all  the  magic  of  fairyland,  are  in  the  young  poet's 
verses.  They  have  the  qualities  that  true  German 
poetry  should  possess — simplicity,  pathos,  and  melod3\ 
Some  of  the  shorter  pieces  end  on  a  strangely  beau- 
tiful minor  chord  that  is,  we  believe,  a  new  note  in  the 
poetry  of  any  language.  Among  so  much  that  is  ex- 
quisite it  is  hard  to  know  what  to  select  for  special 
paise.'  "      [Breaks  off  in   the  reading.]      That  is  not 


WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE      55 

bad  for  a  3'oung  fellow  from  Hamburg,  is  it?     And 
that  is  not  the  half 

Salomon 
[Interrupting.^     Kellermann,  hand  me  The  IVatch- 
man  from  that  desk. 

Kellermann 

[Who  has  been  listening  with  eagerness.^     Surely, 
Herr  Heine. 

[Picks  up  paper,  opens  it,  glances  hurriedly 
through  the  columns,  hands  paper  to 
Salomon,  pointing  as  he  does  so  as 
though  to  call  attention  to  a  special 
article,  then  retires  hastily  to  his  desk. 
Salomon  reads  silently,  ivith  evidently 
growing  interest. 

Maier 
Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it? 

[Enter  maid. 

Maid 
Herr  Professor  Mertens  to  see  Herr  Heine. 

Maier 
[Sur prise d.'\     Since  when  have  you  begun  to  keep 
such  learned  company?    The  most  important  wiseacre 
of  the  whole  crew — nothing  less! 


56      WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE 

[Professor  Mertens  enters.  He  is  a 
thin,  elderly  man,  dressed  in  black.  His 
hair  is  long  and  straggling,  falling  over 
his  ears  as  he  bows  his  morning  saluta- 
tion. He  wears  large  gold-rimmed 
spectacles  and  carries  a  huge,  black  cot- 
ton umbrella,  which  he  carefully  deposits 
in  a  corner  before  beginning  to  speak. 


Salomon 

\_All  three  occupants  of  the  room  rise  respectfully. '\ 
This  is  an  honor,  Herr  Professor.  [Offering  him  a 
chair. ^ 


Professor  Mertens 

[/«  a  formal  but  not  unkindly  7nanner,'\  No,  no, 
Herr  Heine.  Such  practical  men  as  jou  have  so  little 
time  that  we  bookworms  must  not  intrude  upon  it 
for  long.  But  this  morning  is  a  special  occasion.  I 
have  just  come  from  a  meeting  of  my  colleagues,  all  of 
whom  had  learned  with  great  interest  from  this  morn- 
ing's Watchman  that  a  new  poet  had  arisen  in  Ger- 
many, and  with  great  pride  that  he  was  a  dweller  in 
Hamburg.  It  is  so  seldom  that  \\t  Hamburgers  get 
credit  for  anything  but  commercial  productiveness  that 
we  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  those  who  can  show  that 
an  atmosphere  of  art  and  letters  need  not  be  wholly 
absent  from   a   commercial   city.      On    behalf   of   my 


WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE      57 

colleagues  of  the  Gymnasium  as  well  as  on  my  own,  I 
wish  to  compliment  you  upon  your  nephew's  talents, 
and  upon  your  share  in  fostering  them.  Be  so  good 
as  to  convey  to  the  young  poet,  whom  I  have  not  the 
honor  to  know,  but  whom  I  hope  to  have  the  pleasure 
of  meeting  very  soon,  our  warmest  congratulations, 
and  our  best  wishes  for  the  future.  Your  very  humble 
servant,  sir  [to  Maier],  and  yours  [to  Kellermann], 
and  yours.     Good-morning. 

[Looks  for  his  umbrella  and  then  goes  out. 

Maier 

[Chuckling.]  Ah,  you  see  what  an  honor  it  is 
when  a  banker  has  a  poet  for  a  nephew! 

[Maid  enters. 

Maid 

A  messenger  has  just  brought  this  note  from  Herr 
Hofrat  von  Claussen. 

[Exit. 

Maier 
The  Hofrat  too !    What  next  ? 

Salomon 

[Opens  letter,  shaking  his  head  as  he  does  so,  and 
reads.]  "  The  Hofrat  von  Claussen  presents  his 
compliments   to   Herr    Salomon    Heine,   and    begs   to 


58      WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE 

felicitate  him  on  the  poetic  talents  of  his  nephew  Herr 
Heinrich  Heine,  of  which  the  three  poems  quoted  in 
this  morning's  Watchman  furnish  so  convincing  a 
proof " 

Kellermann 

[Rising  from  his  place  at  the  desk,  going  over  to 
the  table  where  Salomon  is  seated,  and  looking  for 
the  place  in  the  paper.]    Yes,  three,  that  is  right! 

Salomon 

[Seems  about  to  rebuke  Kellermann,  but  refrains, 
and  resumes  reading  the  note].  "  The  Hofrat  wishes 
to  add  that  the  Hofratin  would  esteem  it  a  favor  if 
Herr  Heinrich  Heine  would  give  her  the  pleasure  of  his 
company  to-morrow  afternoon  at  three,  when  the 
Hofratin  will  entertain  Grjifin  von  Wintersholm  and 
some  other  ladies  who  would  be  charmed  to  hear  Herr 
Heinrich  Heine  read  some  of  his  poems.  The  Hofrat 
will  be  indebted  to  Herr  Salomon  Heine  if  he  will 
have  the  goodness  to  convey  to  Herr  Heinrich  Heine 
the  Hofratin's  invitation,  and  again  assures  Herr  Salo- 
mon Heine  of  his  sincere  felicitations  and  in  addition 
his  most  distinguished  consideration."  [Draws  a  long 
breath.]     Indeed! 

Maier 

Well,  when  notes  and  invitations  come  from  Hofrats 
and  Hofratins  who  are  generally  too  near-sighted  to 


WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE      59 

see  us  commercial  folks  when  they  pass  us  in  the  street, 
I  had  better  go,  before  the  King  of  Prussia  sends  his 
Hofmarschall  to  ask  for  the  privilege  of  presenting  you 
at  court.  [Goes  towards  door.^  Auf  wiedersehen, 
then,  uncle  of  a  poet!  [Heinrich  Heine  and  Chris- 
tian Sethe  appear  at  the  door.  To  Heinrich 
Heine.]  All  that  fine  poetry  need  not  be  kept  for 
Hofratins,  I  hope.  We  must  hear  some  of  it  at  dinner 
to-night. 

[^Goes  out.  Heinrich  and  Sethe  enter. 
Sethe  greets  Salomon  Heine  and 
Kellermann,  then  seats  himself  at  a 
table  and  reads  a  paper. 

Heine 

[In  a  low  tone  to  Kellermann,  who  has  gone  back 
to  his  place  at  the  desk.].    Well? 

Kellermann 

You  shall  see. 

[Heinrich  Heine  seats  himself  in  a  com- 
fortable chair  and  looks  at  Salomon 
Heine  with  an  air  of  expectancy. 

Salomon 

[After  fidgeting  awkwardly  with  papers  and  letters 
for  a  few  moments.]  So!  You  have  published  a  book 
of  poetry. 


6o      WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE 

Heine 

[Half-defiantly.]     That  is  true! 

Salomon 

[After  another  pause.]  The  Hofratin  von  Claussen 
has  invited  you  to  her  salon  to-morrow  afternoon  to 
read  some  of  the  poems. 

[Kellermann,  who  has  been  following 
eagerly,  leans  back  in  his  chair  with  a 
sigh   of  relief. 

Heine 
Invited  mef 

Salomon 

Here  is  the  invitation.  Perhaps  some  of  the  guests 
who  are  coming  to  dinner  to-night  might  like  to  hear 
a  poem  or  two  as  well.    What  do  you  say,  Herr  Sethe? 

Sethe 

An  excellent  idea,  Herr  Heine.  Heinrich  should 
begin  to  practice  his  reading  at  once. 

Salomon 

No,  no,  no,  it  is  too  near  luncheon  time.  But  to- 
night we  shall  have  some  poetry  in  honor  of  the  new 
member  of  the  family  whom  we  are  going  to  welcome. 


WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE      6i 

Heine 

What  new  member  is  that? 

Salomon 

Yes,  yes,  of  course  you  do  not  know;  no  one  has 
been  told  about  it.  Have  you  not  noticed  anything 
about  Molly  lately? 

Heine 

[Starting.]     Molly!     What  is  it  about  Molly? 

Salomon 

[Chuckling.]  Ah,  she  is  a  steady-witted  little  girl 
and  can  keep  a  secret.  You  remember  Herr  Fried- 
lander  from  Konigsberg,  who  sold  us  the  Prussian 
bonds  three  months  ago.  To-night  he  will  come  as 
Molly's  future  husband.  It  was  settled  only  yester- 
day. 

Heine 
[Slowly.]     So  Molly  is  going  to  be  married? 

Salomon 

Yes,  and  she  will  have  a  husband  with  as  good  a 
head  for  business  as  ever  I  saw  on  anyone's  shoulders. 
So  perhaps  the  house  of  Heine  can  stand  one  poet,  after 
all.  And  now  we  can  go  in  to  luncheon.  I  am  hungry 
with  all  the  talk  about  poetry.     There  is  to  be  fish- 


62      WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE 

soup   to-day.      Come,    Kellermann,    leave   the    papers. 
Heinrich,  bring  Herr  Sethe  with  you. 

[Goes  out.     Kellermann  rises  and  fol- 
lows  him. 

Kellermann 

[As  he  shuffles  past  Heine.]  It  has  all  come  out 
right,   you   see,    Herr   Heinrich! 

[Goes  out. 

Heine 

My  house  of  cards  is  down ! 

Sethe 

[Going  to  Heinrich  and  bending  over  him.] 
Courage,  old  comrade! 

Heine 

Of  course  I  shall  have  courage.  That  will  be  my 
metier  through  life,  you  shall  see.  What  is  it,  after 
all?  The  flesh-and-blood  mistress  of  my  affections 
has  engaged  herself  to  someone  else.  As  long  as  the 
Aluse  remains  faithful,  what  need  I  care?  Everyone 
knows  that  a  broken  heart  is  the  very  best  stock  in 
trade  for  a  poet,  and  have  I  not  received  official  per- 
mission from  the  head  of  the  house  of  Salomon  Heine  to 
be  a  poet,  and  read  some  verses  at  Molly's  betrothal 
feast?     But  go  now.  Christian,  the  fish-soup  will  be 


WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE      63 

getting  cold,  and  Hamburg  fish-soup  is  not  a  dish  to 

be  scorned — ask  any  Hamburger. 

[Sethe  goes  out.  Heine  remains  seated  in 
an  attitude  of  utter  dejection.  Molly 
enters.  She  is  a  pretty  young  girl,  sim- 
ple and  unaffected  in  manner. 

Molly 
[Going  up   to    Heine,   who  starts  as  he   becomes 
aware  of  her  presence.]     Harr}!     They  want  to  know 
why  you  do  not  come  in  to  luncheon. 

Heine 
[Playfully.]     It's  all  your  fault,  Molly,  that  I  am 
so  late.     I  have  been  trying  to  think  how  I  can  most 
gracefully  congratulate  my  fair  cousin  on  her  betrothal. 
Let  me  see — "  Gnddiges  Frdulein  !  " 

Molly 
I  would  much  rather  have  you  write  a  poem  about 
me,  Harry.  Father  says  that  you  are  to  read  some  of 
your  poetry  for  Herr  Friedlander  after  dinner  to-night, 
and  since  you  are  a  real  poet  now,  with  your  poems 
printed  in  a  book,  I  should  like  it  of  all  things  if  you 
were  to  write  one  about  me. 

Heine 
Well,    I   will   try  to   be   the  family  poet   in   good 
earnest.      Here   is   something   that   I   have   only  just 
finished.     Will  you  listen  to  the  last  verse? 


64      WHEN  HEINE  WAS  TWENTY-ONE 

Es  ist  eine  alte  Gescliichte, 

Dock  bleibt  sie  immer  neu, 
Und  ivem  sie  just  pass'ieret 

Dem  bricht  das  Herz  entzivei. 

(The  story  is  old  as  the  ages, 

Age-old,  yet  ever  new; 
And  a  broken  heart  is  his  guerdon 
Who   learns  to  find  it  true.) 

Molly 

That  is  very  pretty  [hesitatingly],  though  I  don't 
quite  understand  what  it  is  about.  But  now  you  really 
must  come,  Harry,  or  we  shall  both  be  scolded,  and 
on  the  day  of  my  betrothal  too! 

[Goes  out. 

Heine 

[Repeating] 

Und  ivem   sie  just  passieret 
Dem  bricht  das  Herz  entzivei. 

(And  a  broken  heart  is  his  guerdon 
Who   learns  to  find  it  true.) 

[Bows  his  head  on  his  hands,  then  rises,  and 
walks  slowly   to  the  door.     Exit. 


MISS   BURNEY   AT   COURT 


In  1778,  Miss  Fanny  Burney,  then  twenty-six  years 
of  age,  published  the  novel  "  Evelina,"  which  at  once 
made  the  authoress  famous.  Her  second  novel,  "  Ce- 
cilia," was  equally  successful,  and  for  some  years  Miss 
Burney  was  one  of  the  literary  celebrities  of  England. 
In  1786,  Queen  Charlotte,  the  consort  of  George  III, 
offered  her  the  post  of  Keeper  of  the  Robes.  Although 
it  grieved  Miss  Burney  to  leave  her  family  and  her  cir- 
cle of  friends  to  take  up  her  residence  at  Windsor 
Palace,  she  gratefully  accepted  the  honor  conferred 
upon  her,  hoping  that  her  connection  with  the  Court 
would  enable  her  to  advance  the  fortunes  of  her  father, 
Dr.  Burney,  a  learned  and  accomplished  musician. 
Miss  Burney  remained  a  member  of  the  Queen's  house- 
hold for  five  years,  during  which  time  she  kept  a  most 
entertaining  diary,  giving  us  delightful  as  well  as  true 
pictures  of  the  life  at  Court.  For  Miss  Burney  herself 
the  life  was  far  from  pleasant.  Though  the  royal  cou- 
ple. King  George  and  Queen  Charlotte,  were  exceed- 
ingly considerate,  her  duties  were  made  very  irksome 
by  the  almost  unbelievable  rudeness  and  unkindness  of 
her  German  colleague,  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  the  Senior 
Keeper  of  the  Robes,  In  her  diary  and  in  her  equally 
entertaining  family  letters  Miss  Burney  gives  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg  the  appropriate  nickname  of  Cerbera. 
In  spite  of  the  indignities  she  was  compelled  to  endure. 
Miss  Burney's  anxiety  to  secure  the  King's  favor  for 

67 


68  MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT 

her  father  made  her  unwilh'ng  to  resign,  even  though 
her  friends  protested  that  her  health  was  giving  way 
under  the  strain.  She  did,  however,  finally  resign  her 
post  in  1 79 1,  receiving  a  pension  from  the  Queen's  own 
purse,  and  retaining  the  Queen's  friendship  throughout 
her  life.  The  fact  that  the  King,  as  well  as  the  Queen, 
was  very  kindly  disposed  towards  the  amiable  authoress 
of  "  Evelina  "  is  the  basis  of  the  following  play. 


MISS    BURNEY   AT    COURT 

CHARACTERS 

Fanny    Burney,    Second   Keeper   of   the   Robes   to 

Queen  Charlotte. 
Sally  Burney,  her  half-sister,  a  young  girl. 
Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  Senior  Keeper  of  the  Robes. 
Dr.  Burney,  a  musician,  father  of  Fanny  and  Sally. 
The  Visitor. 
A  Footman. 

Scene:  Fanny  Burney 's  drawing-room  at  Windsor. 

Time:  1791. 

Fanny  Burney  enters  from  an  inner  room  on  the 
left  side.  She  has  evidently  been  crying,  and  dries  her 
eyes  as  she  seats  herself  with  an  air  of  dejection  at  a 
small  table  near  the  center.  Footman  enters  at  the 
open  door  at  the  right. 

Footman 

[/n  a  monotonous  but  not  disrespectful  tone.l  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg  bids  me  say  to  Miss  Burney  that  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg  wishes  Miss  Burney  to  be  punctual  at 

69 


70  MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT 

tea  this  afternoon  and  not  keep  Mrs.  Schwellenberg 
waiting  ten  minutes  as  Miss  Burney  did  yesterday. 

[Bonis  and  goes  out. 

Fanny 

[Impatiently.]     Oh!    Odious! 

[Rises  quickly  and  takes  seat  on  the  sofa  to 
the  left,  again  drying  her  eyes.  Sally 
Burney  enters  on  tiptoe.  She  looks 
about  her,  perceives  Fanny,  rushes  up 
to  her,  and  embraces  her  affectionately. 

Sally 

Oh,  Fanny!  I've  been  home  from  school  a  week 
now!  Only  fancy!  Home  for  good!  And  I'm  come 
to  see  you  at  last. 

Fanny 

Why,  Sally,  my  dear,  what  a  delightful  surprise! 
But  have  you  come  all  alone? 

Sally 

No,  indeed ;  I  should  never  have  had  the  courage 
for  that,  even  though  I'm  not  a  school-miss  any 
longer.    Father  came  with  me. 

Fanny 

Father  with  you !    Where  is  he,  pray  ? 


MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT  71 

Sally 

Below  in  the  town,  paying  his  respects  to  Dr.  Par- 
sons, who  had  some  new  tunes  for  father  to  hear,  he 
said.  I  found  my  way  up  here  all  by  my  very  own 
self,  after  they  had  shown  me  the  path  up  the  hill. 
What  a  monstrous  tall  fellow  of  a  sentinel  you  have 
standing  by  the  lodge  gate!  I  quite  shivered  with  fear 
as  I  passed  him,  but  I  said  "  Miss  Burney,"  and  looked 
as  bold  as  a  lion,  I'm  sure.  And  now  I'm  here — here 
in  the  palace!  How  fine  everything  is!  Oh,  how  all 
the  girls  at  school  envied  you  for  living  in  a  palace! 
[Stops;  looks  sharply  at  Fanny.]  Why,  you  have 
been  crying,  I  declare.  Your  eyes  are  all  red !  What 
has  happened? 

Fanny 

[With  a  little  laugh.]  Nothing  has  happened.  I 
have  a  slight  cold,  I  think. 

Sally 
And  you  look  quite  sad !    Do  tell  me  what  is  wrong! 

Fanny 

[Half  laughing  and  half  crying.]  Oh,  my  dear, 
nothing  is  wrong — except  that  life  in  a  palace  has 
some  little  drawbacks  which  make  themselves  felt  now 
and  then.  But  so  has  life  elsewhere,  and  I  am  going 
to  forget  all  about  my  silly  pin-pricks  while  my  little 
Sally  is  visiting  me.    Now  lay  off  your  bonnet,  [Sally 


72  MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT 

unties  bonnet  and  lays  it  down']  and  tell  me  all  about 
the  people  at  Norbury.  How  did  you  leave  our  dear 
Susan  ? 

Sally 

Very  well  indeed ;  and  I  have  a  great  long  letter 
from  her  which  you  were  to  be  sure  to  read  before 
father  came.  [Opens  reticule  and  gives  letter  to 
Fanny.] 

Fanny 

[Breaking  seal.]  A  great  long  letter  indeed!  And 
I  am  to  read  it  now?  You  must  give  me  your  per- 
mission, then.     [Begins  to  read.] 

Sally 

[After  a  moment  of  watching.]  You  are  cry- 
ing again!  There  must  be  bad  news  in  the  letter!  Do 
tell  me! 

Fanny 

[Drying  her  eyes.]  No,  Sally  dear,  there  is  no  bad 
news  in  the  letter;  we  will  read  it  together,  if  you 
like,  to  convince  you,  and  then  you  will  know  some  of 
my  secrets.  [Reading  the  letter  aloud  to  Sally,  who 
listens  eagerly.] 

My  dearest  sister: — 

I  can  no  longer  be  silent  as  to  the  concern  with  which 
your  situation  is  regarded  by  those  who  love  you.  Your 
unselfisl)  unwillingness  to  disappoint  our  dear  father's  hopes 
of  promotion  by  informing  him  of  the  true  state  of  your 
affairs  is  causing   us   the   greatest   anxiety.     Though   the  11- 


MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT  73 

lustrious  persons  you  serve  possess  almost  all  human  excel- 
lences, and  treat  you  with  the  most  benevolent  condescension, 
yet  you  can  never,  in  any  part  of  the  livelong  day,  command 
liberty  or  social  intercourse  or  repose.  Worse  than  all,  you 
are  subject  to  the  caprice  of  one  whose  colleague  you  justly 
expected  to  be,  but  who  regards  you  as  her  dependent.  Your 
depression  of  spirits  and  constant  declension  in  health  con- 
vince us  all  that  your  constitution  is  surely  giving  way. 
Cease  to  conceal  the  fact  from  the  father  who  loves  you  so 
truly.  No  prospect  of  honors  to  be  derived  from  your  con- 
nection with  the  Court  will  seem  to  him  of  value  equal  to  a 
cherished  daughter's  well-being.  I  implore  you  in  the  name 
of  all  your  friends — and  who  has  so  many  as  you? — to  give 
him  your  confidence.  Be  sure  that  he  will  receive  it  without 
a  syllable  of  reproach  or  regret  for  the  thwarting  of  his 
plans.  Speak  to  him  to-day — tell  him  all,  and  end  the  dis- 
tress of 

Your  ever-devoted  sister, 

Susan  Phillips. 

Sally 

So  you  were  really  crying,  after  all!     Poor  Fanny! 

And  I  thought  you  were  as  happy  as  the  day  was  long, 

here  in  the  palace,  waiting  on  the  Queen !     Do  tell  me 

all  about  it,  now!     Is  the  Queen  not  good  to  you? 

Fanny 

The  Queen!    Oh,  my  dear,  she  is  goodness  itself!    I 
am  always  happy  when  I  am  with  her. 

Sally 
Who  is  it,  then,  that  makes  you  unhappy?     [A  bell 
rings.^ 

Fanny 
Oh,   I  had  forgotten  that  it  was  so  near  tea-time. 
But  I  may  escape  to-day,  I  suppose.     [Rings  bell  on 


74  MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT 

the  table — Footman  enters.^  John,  I  shall  have  tea 
here  instead  of  above.  Bring  a  tray  for  two.  And 
make  my  excuses  to  Mrs.  Schvvellenberg,  and  tell  her 
I  have  my  sister  visiting  me.     [Footman  goes  out.^ 

Sally 

Mrs.  Schwellenberg!  What  a  queer  name?  Who 
is  she? 

Fanny 

She  is  the  Senior  Keeper  of  the  Queen's  Robes.  I 
am  only  the  Second  Keeper,  you  know,  and  I  share 
these  apartments  with  her.  I  ought  to  be  pouring  tea 
for  her  now,  I  am  afraid. 

Sally 

Tell  me  something  about  her,  this  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg. [Making  a  grimace  at  the  na/ne.l  Do  you 
like  her? 

[Footman   enters,   bearing  tray   with   tea- 
service,  which  he  places  upon  the  table. 

Fanny 

I  think  our  little  confidences  will  have  a  better 
flavor  over  a  dish  of  tea,  perhaps.  [Is  about  to  pour 
tea  when  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  enters.  She  is  a  stout, 
red-faced  woman  of  between  fifty  and  sixty,  and  is  in 
a  violent  passion.^ 


MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT  75 

Mrs.  Schwellenberg 

[Scarcely  able  to  control  her  anger.]  *Miss  Berni, 
vat  do  this  mean?  I  tell  you  I  vant  you  promptly, 
and  50U  come  not  at  all.  I  have  lived  in  this  palace 
for  such  a  long  time  as  no  one  else,  and  I  never  know 
no  one  who  behave  so  ill ! 

Fanny 

[Quietly.]  I  sent  John  with  a  message  to  explain, 
Madam,  that  my  sister  was  come  to  visit  me. 

Mrs.  Schwellenberg 

[No  less  angrily.]  You  have  not  to  explain,  you 
have  to  do  as  I  vant.  Who  is  the  mistress  here,  you 
or  me  ?  You  think  because  the  Queen  like  your  story- 
book you  are  so  much  better  as  everyone  that  you  do 
not  one  thing  but  be  idle  in  your  room  and  leave  me  to 
be  alone  by  myself.  But  you  shall  not  stay  down  when 
there  is  tea-time.  I  tell  you  so  vonce — twice — many 
times,  and  now  I  tell  you  so  again  that  you  shall  come 
up. 

Fanny 

[Obviously  making  an  effort  to  control  her  indig- 
nation.] I  will  come,  Madam.  Will  you  permit  my 
sister  to  join  us?  She  has  just  come  from  school  in 
Switzerland,  and  is  paying  her  first  visit  here. 

*  Mrs.  Schwellenberg's  dialect  and  manner  of  speech  are 
reproduced  from  Miss  Burney's  report  of  them  in  the  "  Diary." 


76  MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT 

Mrs.  Schwellenberg 
[Rudely.]  For  vat  must  I  have  the  trouble  with 
your  sister  who  comes  from  school  ?  The  gentlemens  in 
my  company — gentlemens  who  vait  on  the  King — do 
not  vant  to  sit  with  persons  so  young  like  that.  Your 
sister  can  vait  here  until  I  do  not  vant  you  longer. 

Fanny 

[Gently  to  Sally,  who  has  been  listening  in  aston- 
ishment.] Go,  my  dear,  into  my  bedroom  [pointing 
to  door]  and  bring  me  my  fan  and  gloves.  You  will 
find  them  on  the  dressing-table.     [Sally  goes.] 

Mrs.  Schwellenberg 
Have  His  Majesty  not  alreaty  sent  to  you  to-day? 

Fanny 

No,  Madam.     Sent  for  what? 

Mrs.  Schwellenberg 
He  have  said  this  morning  to  the  Queen  vhile   I 
vas  vith  her  that  he  did  vish  for  some  snuff  like  vat 
you  mixed  for  the  Queen,  and  he  vould  ask  you  for 
that  you  mix  him  some  for  himself. 

Fanny 
I  have  received  no  message  from  him,  Madam. 

[Re-enter    Sally,    with    fan    and    gloves, 
which  she  gives  to  Fanny. 


MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT  77 

Mrs.  Schwellenberg 

[With  a  scornful  look  toivards  Sally.]  You  vill 
come  up  at  vonce,  Miss  Berni,  and  not  keep  my  com- 
pany vaiting  no  more.     [Goes  out  pompously.^ 

Sally 

[Half -frightened,  half -indignant. ~\  Ugh!  what  a 
horrid,  horrid  creature!  No  wonder  you  are  unhappy 
if  you  must  be  where  she  is.  Poor  Fanny!  I  declare, 
I  hate  the  palace  after  all. 

Fanny 

[Laying  a  finger  on  Sally's  lips.]  Hush,  my  dear. 
I  must  go  and  serve  tea  to  the  equerries  now,  but  3'ou 
will  wait  patiently  for  me,  I  know.  I  can  give  you 
no  company  to  your  dish  of  tea,  for  I  expect  no  one 
at  this  hour,  but  you  will  take  my  place  and  do  the 
honors  if  anyone  should  chance  to  appear,  will  you 
not  ?  [Kisses  Sally  and  goes  out.  Sally  stands  dis- 
consolately in  the  doorivay  for  a  moment,  then  tip- 
toes back  into  the  room,  goes  up  to  the  rnirror,  and 
practises  courtesying  a  la  grande  dame  before  it.  As 
she  is  doing  so  a  ?}iiddle-aged  gentleman  appears  in  the 
doorway.  Catching  sight  of  his  reflection,  she  turns 
in  some  confusion.] 

Visitor 
Is  Miss  Burney  not  within? 


78  MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT 

Sally 

No,  sir;  Miss  Burney  is  engaged  at  present;  but 
she  will  be  not  absent  long.  She  is  gone  to  serve  tea 
to  the  King's  equerries  above-stairs. 

Visitor 

[In  a  puzzled  tone.]  To  the  King's  equerries,  eh? 
— the  equerries? 

Sally 

Yes,  sir.  But  I  was  to  take  her  place  if  anyone 
called  while  she  was  away,  and  [zvith  a  sudden  inspira- 
tion] will  you  not  step  in  and  allow  me  to  pour  you  a 
dish  of  tea? 

Visitor 

[Entering  and  looking  curiously  about  him.]  A  dish 
of  tea,  eh? — a  dish  of  tea?    Very  kind,  indeed. 

Sally 

Nay,  sir,  I  am  doing  only  as  my  sister  bade  me. 
Pray,  be  seated.  [The  Visitor  takes  a  chair  at  the 
table,  Sally  sits  down  opposite  him.  As  she  does  so, 
the  visitor  starts  as  if  in  surprise,  without,  however, 
attracting  Sally's  notice.] 

Visitor 
So  you  are  Miss  Burney 's  sister,  eh? 


MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT  79 

Sally 

Yes,  sir,  but  only  just  freed  from  school  in  Switzer- 
land. [Pouring  out  a  cup  of  tea  and  handing  it  to  the 
Visitor.] 

Visitor 
Never  been  to  the  palace  before,  then? 

Sally 

No,  sir;  never  before.  When  my  sister  first  came 
here  I  was  too  young,  and  they  thought  it  would  not 
be  fitting  for  her  to  receive  me. 

Visitor 
That  was  foolish  of  them, — very  foolish. 

Sally 

And  then  I  was  sent  away  abroad  to  school  so  that 
I  might  get  a  finer  education  than  was  to  be  had  at 
home. 

Visitor 

Ah,  French  and  fal-lals,  I  suppose.  That's  what 
you  get  abroad. 

Sally 
But    I    w^ouldn't    stop    long    after    coming    home 
from  school.     I  was  so  eager  to  sec  my  sister  in  the 


8o  MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT 

palace.  [Sighs  deeply  as  she  pours  out  a  cup  of  tea  for 
her  self. '\ 

Visitor 

A  great  thing  for  your  sister  to  be  in  the  palace — a 
great  thing,  to  be  sure! 

Sally 

Yes,  I  always  used  to  think  so  and  boast  about  it 
to  the  girls  at  school.  But  I  should  have  known  bet- 
ter than  to  boast — I  am  well  paid  for  it. 

Visitor 
No, — no, — never  boast. 

Sally 

Indeed,  I  would  never  have  boasted  if  I  had  known 
the  truth.  But  how  could  I  help  believing  that  it  was 
a  fine  thing  to  be  in  the  palace  and  wait  on  the  Queen, 
and  see  the  King  himself,  every  day  of  one's  life! 
[Visitor  draws  himself  up  complacently.^  Poor 
Fanny!  [Sighing  again.]  But  will  you  not  let  me 
give  you  another  dish  of  tea? 

Visitor 

[Passing  his  cup.]  A  very  good  brew  indeed — a 
very  good  brew.  [Drinks.]  But  you  say,  "  Poor 
Fanny!  "     Why  "  Poor  Fanny  "? 


MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT  8i 

Sally 

Ah,  sir,  I  have  a  good  reason  to  say  poor  Fanny,  as 
you  would  know  if  you  were  better  acquainted  with 
the  people  in  the  palace.  [Visitor  seems  about  to  in- 
terrupt, but  checks  himself. '\  As  for  me,  I  had  not 
been  here  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  I  found  out  how 
things  stood  with  my  sister.  Indeed  I  cannot  see  how 
she  endures  such  an  odious  creature! 

Visitor 

Endures?  She  loves  the  Queen,  surely — the  good 
Queen  ? 

Sally 

No,  no,  it's  not  the  Queen.  The  King  and  Queen 
are  both  good  and  kind,  she  says.  But  \^hesitating], 
Fanny  would  not  like  me  to  be  saying  all  this.  'Tis  all 
because  I  am  so  angry.  When  I  am  angry  I  must  be 
speaking  my  mind  to  someone. 

Visitor 

Yes,  yes!  speak  your  mind — tell  me — I  am  Miss 
Burney's  friend.  I  always  was.  Tell  me  again — is 
she  unhappy? — I  can't  believe  it — the  Queen  does  all 
she  can  for  her,  I'm  sure.  And  if  she  were  unhappy 
she  would  surely  tell  the  Queen — the  Queen  wants  no 
one  about  her  to  be  unhappy.  I'll  not  believe  it  until 
I  hear  that  Miss  Burney  says  so  herself. 


82  MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT 

Sally 

[Hurt  at  his  incredulity.]  Ah,  you  don't  know  how 
good  she  is.  I  could  not  understand  it  myself  until 
I  saw  my  sister  Susan's  letter.  It  is  on  account  of  our 
father  that  she  will  not  tell  the  Queen.  Look,  you 
may  see  for  yourself  in  the  letter  that  Susan  sent  to 
her  this  very  day.  [Takes  letter  and  going  over  to 
the  Visitor,  points  out  passages  and  reads]  :  "  '  Your 
unwillingness  to  disappoint  our  dear  father's  hopes  of 
promotion  by  informing  him  of  the  true  state  of  affairs 
is  causing  us  the  greatest  anxiety  on  your  behalf.'  " 

Visitor 
Ah! 

Sally 

Well,  now  you  may  as  well  look  at  the  rest,  and 
see  who  knows  more  about  life  in  a  palace,  you  or  I. 

Visitor 

[Taking  letter  and  looking  through  it  slowly.] 
"  Causing  us  the  greatest  anxiety."  [Shaking  his  head 
gravely.]  "  The  illustrious  persons  you  serve  possess 
almost  all  human  excellences."  [Nodding  his  head 
as  if  in  pleased  assent.]     "  Subject  to  the  beck  and  call 

— regards  you  as  her  dependent "    Ah,  yes,  yes, — 

the  Schwellenberg — I  know  she  must  have  a  hard 
time  with  the  Schwellenberg,  but  I  thought — well, 
well,  this  will  not  do — not  do  at  all. 


MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT  83 

Sally 

Indeed,  sir,  you  would  be  as  sorry  as  I  am  if  you 
had  seen  Fanny's  eyes  all  red  from  crying,  and  you 
would  be  as  angry  as  I  am  if  you  had  heard  how  rudely 
she  was  spoken  to  when  the  Mrs.  what-d'ye-call-her 
came  here  to  order  her  above-stairs.  [Mimicking  Mrs. 
ScHWELLENBERG.]  Miss  Berni — vat  does  this  mean? 
You  have  not  to  explain — you  are  to  do  as  I  vant — 
For  vat  must  I  have  the  trouble  vith  your  sister! 

Visitor 

[Laughing  at  the  mimicry.^  Ah,  very  good!  very 
good !  But  we  should  not  laugh  because  people  are  un- 
happy. We  should  see  what  can  be  done  for  them. 
Well,  well,  we  shall  see,  we  shall  see.  But  now  it  is 
time  for  me  to  take  my  leave.  [Rises.^  I  had  come  to 
ask  Miss  Burney  to  fill  my  box  with  some  of  her  snuff. 
She  mixes  it  exactly  right — exactly  right.  I  will  leave 
my  box  [places  box  on  table],  and  my  kind  hostess  will 
tell  Miss  Burney  that  I  will  send  for  it  shortly. 

Sally 
Who  shall  I  say  will  send,  sir? 

Visitor 

Who?  Oh,  yes — say  Colonel  George.  Your  serv- 
ant, madam,  and  my  thanks.     [Bowing.] 


84  MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT 

Sally 
[Courtesying].     I  wish  you  a  very  good  day,  sir. 

[Visitor  goes  out.  After  he  has  gone, 
Sally  takes  the  snuffbox  from  the  table 
and  examines  it  curiously.  As  she  is  do- 
ing so.  Miss  Burney  enters. 

Fax  NY 

Well,  Sally,  my  dear,  here  I  am  back,  you  see.  The 
equerries  have  all  been  properly  tea'd,  and  I  am  free 
for  my  little  sister  at  last.  Poor  little  sister,  to  be  left 
all  alone  in  a  great  gloomy  drawing-room! 

Sally 
Ah,  but  I  wasn't  alone.     I  had  a  visitor! 

Fanny 

A  visitor?     Who,  pray? 

Sally 
Colonel  George. 

Fanny 
[Puzzled.^     I  know  no  Colonel  George.    Was  he  a 
stranger?    And  who  announced  him? 

Sally 
He  spoke  as  though  he  knew  you — though  to  be 
sure,  he  knew  little  enough  about  the  palace,  as  I  took 


MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT  85 

pains  to  tell  him.  He  came  in  as  coolly  as  you  please, 
so  that  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  bid  him  be 
seated  and  have  his  dish  of  tea. 

Fanny 

Unannounced — why,  no  one  but — tell  me,  what  was 
he  like? 

Sally 
He  was  a  goodish-sized  fat  man,  not  quite  so  old 
as  father;  pleasant  enough,  though  a  little  stupid,   I 
thought.    And  he  kept  on  saying  things  twice  over,  as 
though  he  couldn't  quite  hear  himself. 

Fanny 

[In  a  tone  of  distress.}     Oh,  Sally,  you  can't  mean 
it — Why,  you  surely  haven't 

Sally 
Wh}^,  what  ails  jou,  Fanny?  You  bade  me  take 
your  place  and  I  did;  and  this  Colonel  George,  who- 
ever he  may  be  that  seems  to  distress  you  so — I'm  sure 
I  can  see  no  reason  for  it,  for  he  was  not  so  ill,  even 
though  he  had  few  wits — came  only  to  ask  you  for 
some  snuff  that  you  could  mix  better  than  anyone  else, 
he  said. 

Fanny 

[Sinking  into  a  chair,  in  utter  consternt^ion.}     Oh, 
Sally,  Sally,  you  poor  little  goose! 


86  MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT 

Sally 
[Aggrieved.]     And  here's  the  snuffbox  he  left  for 
jou  to  fill  when  he  should  send  for  it.     [Handing  box 
to  Fanny.] 

Fanny 

[Taking  box.]  Ah,  I  was  sure  of  it!  Had  you  no 
idea  who  your  Colonel  George  was? 

Sally 
None  in  the  world.    And  who  was  he,  pray? 

Fanny 

Why,  His  Majesty,  himself! 

Sally 
Oh.  no,  no! 

Fanny 

This  is  his  snuffbox.  I  have  seen  him  with  it  a 
thousand  times.  And  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  told  me  he 
wished  for  some  snuff  of  my  mixing.  And  he  always 
repeats  his  words  in  this  fashion.  [Imitating  the 
Visitor):  "Yes,  yes" — "very  good,  very  good" — 
— Was  not  that  the  way? 

Sally 
Yes,  it  was  indeed.     Oh,  what  shall  I  do?     Why 
didn't  I  know?    You  don't  know  what  I  told  him! 


MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT  87 

Fanny 

Told  him!     What  did  you  tell  him? 

Sally 

Ah,  you  may  as  well  know  it  all.  I  was  so  angry  at 
Mrs.  What-do-you-call-her,  and  you  know  I  can 
never  be  silent  when  I  am  angry — and  he  seemed  so 
kind  that  I — oh!  how  can  I  say  it? 

Fanny 

You  did  what?  [Gently.^  You  know,  dear,  I  can- 
not be  angry  with  my  little  sister,  only  sorry. 

Sally 

I  showed  him   Susan's  letter! 

[In  the  pause  which  follows  Dr.  Burney 
enters.  He  is  about  sixty  years  old, 
stout,  florid,  and  cheery. 

Dr.  Burney 

[To  Fanny.]  Well,  my  dear,  I  am  come  at  last. 
Dr.  Parsons  was  for  playing  me  a  half-score  of  his 
newest  and  slowest  tunes,  or  I  should  have  followed 
Sally  sooner.  [To  Sally.]  And  what  does  Miss 
Bread-and-Butter  think  of  the  palace,  eh?  [To 
Fanny,  again.^  There  was  no  keeping  her  away,  once 
she  came  home — nothing  would  serve  but  she  must 
visit  Fanny  in  the  palace,  before  any  of  the  others  were 


88  MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT 

as  much  as  thought  of.  But  [observin_z  the  appearance 
of  distress  on  Sally's  and  Fanny's  countenances^ 
what  is  this  ?    What  has  happened  ? 

Sally 
\^Sobbing.'\     Oh,  father,  you  don't  know  what  I've 
done! 

Dr.  Burney 
Why,   what  can   you  have   done?     No':   quarreled 
with   Fanny,  surely?     No  one  could   do   that.      \_To 
Fanny,]     Do  you  tell  me,  Fanny. 

Fanny 

[Greatly  disconcerted.l  Why,  father,  I  was 
obliged  to  leave  Sally  to  herself  while  I  served  tea  in 
Mrs.  Schwellenberg's  apartment  and 

Dr.  Burney 

And  the  spoiled  little  minx  did  some  mischief,  I'll 
be  bound — smashed  your  pet  china  monster,  or  ruined 
your  best  paduasoy  with  trying  it  on  when  she'd  no 
business  to  be  meddling  with  it. 

Sally 
[Indignant I y.l     Indeed,  father,  I  did  no  such  thing. 
But  I  will  tell  you,  since  you  must  know.     [Disregard- 
ing Fanny's  anxious  efforts  to  induce  her  to  be  silent.^ 
I  showed  the  King  Susan's  letter! 


MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT  89 

Dr.  Burney 

Susan's  letter!     What  letter? 

Sally 

The  letter  that  Susan  sent  Fanny  to  persuade  her 
to  give  up  her  place  here  at  the  palace. 

Dr.  Burney 

[Nonplussed.]  But  why  should  Susan  want  Fanny 
to  give  up  her  place  at  the  palace? 

Sally 

Why?  [To  Fanny.]  Yes,  Fanny,  I  will  tell, 
since  you  will  not.  If  the  King  knows  it,  father  may 
as  well.  [To  Dr.  Burney  again.]  Because  she  is 
miserable  and  ill  and  unhappy,  on  account  of  a  hor- 
rid woman  with  a  German  alphabet  for  a  name,  and 
because  she  won't  tell  about  it  for  fear  of  disappoint- 
ing you.  [As  Dr.  Burney  stares  uncomprehendingly , 
she  thrusts  the  letter  into  his  hand.  He  reads  it 
slowly.] 

Dr.  Burney 

[Turning  to  Fanny.]  My  dear,  if  this  is  true 
we  are  all  to  blame  for  not  having  greater  confidence  in 
one  another.  But  Susan  has  judged  me  rightly.  There 
is  no  promotion  worth  the  price  of  my  dear  daughter's 
well-being. 


90  MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT 

Fanny 

But,  father,  I  had  such  hopes  that  the  Queen's 
favor  would  bring  you  the  recognition  you  have  earned 
so  well!  My  troubles  would  have  seemed  nothing  if 
only   the   King   could    have   promised    you   the   place 

you 

[Enter    FoOTMAN,    bearing    tray    with    a 
letter. 

Footman 
A  letter  for  Miss  Burney's  sister. 

Sally 
\_Starting  forward. ~\     For  me?     From  whom? 

Footman 
I  was  to  say  from  Colonel  George,  Madam. 

[Exit. 

Sally 
[In  distress.~\     Ah!     Now  I  shall  find  that  I  have 
wrecked  everything  for  you. 

Fanny 
[Gently.'\     Do  not  mind,  my  dear.     You  did  not 
mean  the  least  ill  in  the  world. 

Sally 
[Breaking  the   seal  and  reading^  : 
Colonel    George    presents    his    compliments    and    assures 


MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT  91 

Miss  Burney's  sister  that  it  is  the  King's  pleasure,  and  will 
be  the  Queen's,  that  Miss  Burney  take  whatever  steps  be 
necessary  for  the  preservation  of  her  health  and  for  the 
proper  exercise  of  those  talents  which  first  brought  her  to 
their  Majesties'  notice.  Should  Miss  Burney  no  longer  feel 
it  wise  to  remain  a  member  of  the  Queen's  household. 
Colonel  George  is  authorized  to  add  the  assurance  that  she 
will  lose  nothing  of  the  Queen's  regard  by  ceasing  to  attend 
upon  her.  Miss  Burney  may  also  feel  at  liberty  to  count 
on  the  King's  recognition  of  her  father's  merit,  as  soon  as 
any  position  worthy  of  Dr.  Burney's  acceptance  falls  within 
the  King's  gift.  Colonel  George  begs  that  Miss  Burney's 
sister  will  retain  the  snuffbox  which  Colonel  George  left 
in  her  possession  as  a  slight  mark  of  her  guest's  appreciation 
and  enjoyment  of  her  sincerity. 

[Dropping  the  letter.^  Then  I've  not  been  so  dread- 
fully meddlesome  after  all!  Did  you  understand  it, 
Fanny  and  father? 


Fanny 

[Taking  the  letter.}  'Tis  the  King's  hand,  sure 
enough.  I  may  resign,  and  keep  the  Queen's  favor! 
And  father's  promotion  is  on  the  way !  Oh,  Sally,  you 
little  diplomatist!  You  should  have  been  at  court  in- 
stead of  me! 

Dr.  Burney 

Nay,  I  have  tried  the  family  fortunes  with  one 
daughter,  and  am  lucky  to  have  escaped  without  losing 
her,  it  would  seem.  If  the  King  will  make  me  his 
bandmaster,  well  and  good;  but  I  fear  the  Burney 
womenfolk  were  not  meant  to  be  Mistresses  of  the 
Robes.     I  was  stupid  and  owlish  not  to  have  noted 


92  MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT 

your  distress  before,  Fanny,  but  'tis  not  too  late  to  make 
you  well  and  happy  again — Providence  be  praised — 
and  who  knows — "  Evelina  "  and  "  Cecilia  "  may  have 
a  sister  heroine  before  long.  And  now  [to  Sally] 
get  your  bonnet.  Mistress  Sally.  We  have  had  our  fill 
of  the  palace  for  one  day. 


Sally 

And  such  fine  news  as  we  have  for  Susan!  What 
will  she  say  to  my  letter — and  to  my  snuffbox? 

Fanny 

She  will  say  that  she  chose  a  clever  ambassadress  to 
send  to  court. 

Dr.  Burney 

[To  Sally,  who  is  tying  on  her  bonnet.}  Bid  adieu 
to  the  Keeper  of  the  Robes.  She  will  soon  be  plain 
Fanny  Burney  again,  back  with  her  old  father  in 
Poland  Street. 

Sally 

And  with  Esther  in  Micklcham,  and  Susan  in  Nor- 
bury!  Ah,  to  have  Fanny  at  home  again  will  be  better 
than  having  a  sister  in  the  palace!  But  [draiving  her- 
self up  proudly}  the  King  is  not  so  ill  to  have  a  chat 
with,  there's  no  denying  it.  [Putting  box  in  reticule}. 


MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT  93 

Fanny 

[Laughing  and  kissin^^  lier.^  Good-by,  my  little 
courtier.  [Courtesying  to  her  father.^  Goqd-by,  sir. 
You  shall  hear  all  the  hows  and  whens  of  my  change 
of  station  as  soon  as  they  have  been  arranged  for.  Tell 
Susan  I  am  grateful,  and  that  all  will  be  well  now. 
[Dr.  Burney  and  Sally  go  out.  Fanny  stands  in 
the  doorway  for  a  moment,  looking  after  them;  then 
turns  back  into  the  roo?n.  As  she  does  so,  Mrs. 
ScHWELLENBERG  enters.] 

Mrs.  Schwellenberg 
[Much  perturbed.]  Miss  Berni!  For  vat  do  you 
vait?  Do  you  not  know  that  this  afternoon  I  vill  go 
out,  and  you  shall  take  my  place  to  be  ready  for  Her 
Majesty  when  she  shall  come  back  from  her  drive?  But 
no,  you  do  not  know  nothings — never  do  you  know 
nothings  at  all! 

Fanny 
[Gayly.]     I  declare,  Madam,  I  had  forgotten.    Or 
perhaps  you  had  forgotten  to  tell  me.    And  so  you  are 
going  out?    Is  it  for  a  visit,  or  merely  to  enjoy  the  air? 

Mrs.  Schwellenberg 
[Angrily.]      It  makes  no  matter  for  vhy  I  go,  so 
long  as  you  do  not  forget  for  vhy  you  are  here.     I  tell 
you  vonce  more  it  is  for  you  to  do  as  I  shall  vant,  and 
not  to  ask  any  questions. 


94  MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT 

Fanny 

[Still  gayly.]  Yes,  Madam,  to  be  sure.  Am  I  to 
go  to  Her  Majesty  now? 

Mrs.  Schwellenberg 

It  is  not  yet  the  Queen's  time  for  an  hour.  But  I 
did  come  to  tell  you  that  you  shall  send  your  sister  avay, 
so  that  you  shall  not  be  too  late. 

Fanny 
Mj'^  sister  has  gone.  Madam.     And  now,  since  we 
have  some  time,  shall  we  not  play  your  favorite  game 
of  cards? 

Mrs.  Schwellenberg 
[Astonished.]  For  vat  you  ask  me  to  play  cards? 
You  are  always  so  tired  at  night  ven  ve  play.  The 
gentlemens,  they  always  say,  "  Miss  Berni,  she  get 
tired  vith  the  cards,"  and  I  say,  "  It  is  nonsense.  Ve 
play  no  more  as  four  hours.  For  vhy  shall  she  be 
tired?  "  But  I  tell  them  to-night  Miss  Berni  am  not 
tired,  she  ask  to  play. 

Fanny 
I  shall  be  only  too  happy,  Madam. 

Mrs.  Schwellenberg 
[Scrutinizing  Fanny  sharply.]      For  vhy  you  say 
you  are  happy? 


MISS  BURNEY  AT  COURT  95 

Fanny 

I  say  so,  because  I  am  happy,  Madam,     And  now, 
if  you  are  willing,  we  will  go  to  our  cards. 

[Mrs.  Schwellenberg  goes  out  tossing 
her  head  and  muttering,  "  Happy,  for 
vhy  happy?"  Fanny  courtesies  very 
low  as  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  walks 
away,  then  follows  her  out  of  the  room. 


A  CHRISTMAS    EVE    WITH 
CHARLES    DICKENS 


In  the  story  of  the  early  life  of  Charles  Dickens,  the 
great  novelist,  we  read  that  when  he  was  about  eleven 
years  old,  his  father  became  very  poor,  and  fell  into 
debt.  In  those  days  there  were  debtors'  prisons,  and 
to  one  of  these  Mr.  Dickens  was  sent.  During  his 
father's  imprisonment,  Charles  did  what  he  could  to 
help  his  family  by  working  in  a  blacking  factory.  His 
duty  was  to  tie  up  the  blacking  bottles,  and  for  many 
months  he  worked  faithfully  at  this  tedious  task.  All 
the  men  and  boys  in  the  factory  were  kind  to  him,  be- 
cause he  was  so  young  and  so  different  from  the  other 
employees.  One  boy,  named  Bob  Fagin,  was  his  special 
friend.  Every  morning  and  every  night,  Charles 
visited  his  parents  and  his  brothers  and  sisters  in  the 
prison,  but  he  slept  in  a  lodging  of  his  own  near  by. 
His  father  remained  in  the  prison  for  more  than  a 
year,  until  he  received  a  legacy  from  a  relative,  which 
enabled  him  to  pay  his  debts.  We  do  not  know  just 
when  the  good  news  of  the  legacy  reached  the  family, 
but  if  we  are  willing  to  imagine  that  it  came  on  Christ- 
mas Eve,  and  if  we  believe  in  pleasant  dreams,  we  have 
our  little  play. 


99 


A  CHRISTMAS    EVE    WITH 
CHARLES    DICKENS 

CHARACTERS 

Charles  Dickens,  aged  twelve. 
Fanny,  his  sister,  aged  fourteen. 
Bob  Fagin,  aged  fourteen,  employed  in  the  blacking 

factory. 
Mrs.  Gale,  Dickens's  landlady. 
The  Spirit  of  Christmas. 

Characters    in    the    Christmas   Pageant. 
Father  Christmas  St.  George 

The  Lord  of  Misrule      The  King  of  Egypt 
Holly  The  Doctor 

Ivy  The  Fair  Sabra 

Cooks  The  Dragon 

Scullion  Morris  Dancers 

Pages 

Bearer  of  the  Boar's  Head 

Time:  1824. 

Place  :  Charles  Dickens's  lodging  in  Lant  Street, 
Borough,  London. 

The  Scene  represents  a  room,  poorly  furnished,  but 
neat.     At  the  right  of  the  stage  towards  the  front,  a 


102    A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS 

table  with  a  small  chair  beside  it  and  upon  it  a  pile  of 
shabby  books,  and  a  candle,  partly  burned,  in  a  tin  can- 
dlestick. In  the  left-hand  corner  at  the  back,  a  tightly- 
rolled  mattress  and  a  pillow.  On  the  left  side,  towards 
the  front,  an  old-fashioned  high-backed  chair.  A  fire- 
place at  the  right-hand  side  of  the  stage,  and  on  the 
small  mantel  over  it,  the  clock.  Mrs.  Gale,  bending 
over  the  fireplace,  using  a  pair  of  bellows  vigorously. 

The  door  to  the  left  of  the  stage  opens,  and  Charles 
Dickens  and  Bob  Fagin  enter.  Dickens's  suit  is 
neat  and  well-fitting,  but  threadbare.  He  wears  a 
woolen  tippet  around  his  neck  and  carries  a  round  cloth 
cap  in  his  hand.  Bob  wears  long  loose  trousers  and  a 
jacket  of  a  different  color,  much  too  large  for  him.  On 
seeing  Mrs.  Gale,  he  snatches  off  a  shabby  fur  cap. 

Mrs.  Gale 
[Looking  up,  surprised.]     Why,  if  it  isn't  Master 
Dickens!     Whatever  brings  you  back  so  soon?     It's 
never  your  regular  time,  surely? 

Dickens 
[Cheerfully,   unwinding  his  tippet.]      I'm  a  whole 
hour  early   to-night,    Mrs.  Gale.      Mr.   Lamert  said, 
since  it  was  Christmas  Eve,  we  might  leave  the  ware- 
house at  six  instead  of  seven. 

Mrs.  Gale 
That  was  kind  of  him,  to  be  sure.    Everyone  can  do 
with  a  little  spare  time  on  Christmas  Eve.    It's  a  pity, 


A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS     103 

though,  I've  not  a  better  fire  ready  for  you  this  cold 
night.  I'd  have  had  a  nice  blaze  if  I'd  known  when  to 
look  for  you.  But  come  up  to  the  hearth,  at  any  rate, 
and  try  to  get  warm,  you  and  [after  a  pause  and  an 
uncertain  look  at  Bob]  the  other  young  gentleman. 

Bob 

[^Briskly.'\  There  ain't  no  need  to  be  calling  me 
a  young  gentleman,  ma'am.  I'm  only  Bob  Fagin,  as 
works  in  the  blacking  ware'us  for  seven  bob  a  week. 
It's  him  [jerking  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder  at 
Charles]  as  is  the  young  gentleman  in  our  place.  We 
all  calls  him  that,  you  know.  Poll  Green,  he  didn't 
want  to,  once, — he  said  it  was  "  airs,"  he  did.  But  I 
soon  settled  him;  you  know  I  did,  don't  you.  Master 
Charles  ? 

Dickens 

[Laughing.}  You're  always  very  good  to  me.  Bob,  I 
know  that. 

Bob 

[To  Mrs.  Gale.]  Oh,  it  didn't  take  any  time  at 
all,  ma'am.  I  finished  him  beautiful  in  the  second 
round.  He  won't  want  to  call  people  out  of  their  right 
names  no  more,  I'll  warrant  you  that. 

Mrs.  Gale 
[Pleasantly.]     Well,  Bob,  since  that's  your  name, 
come  up  and  get  warm  at  the  fire,  anyway.    You  must 
need  it  after  your  walk. 


104    A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS 

Bob 

[Approaching  the  hearth,  and  bloiving  on  his  hands.~\ 
It  is  a  goodish  bit,  ma'am,  from  Hungerford  Stairs  to 
here,  and  it  ain't  exactly  May  weather  neither. 

Dickens 

Yes,  and  do  you  know,  Mrs.  Gale,  he  walked  home 
with  me,  though  it's  quite  out  of  his  way,  just  be- 
cause  

Bob 

[Interrupting.']  Just  because  Christmas  Eve  ain't 
no  time  for  a  young  gentleman  whose  folks  is  away,  and 
who  ain't  feeling  as  shipshape  as  he  might,  to  be  coming 
home  through  the  streets  all  alone  by  hisself.  It's  easy 
enough  for  rne  toi  get  around  the  streets  any  night  of  the 
year.  /  was  born  to  them,  /  was,  and  there  ain't  no 
chap  of  my  size  as  knows  them  better  than  I  do.  But 
Master  Charles  here's  different.  Why,  if  he  was  my 
kind,  I'd  ha'  made  him  come  home  alonger  me.  We 
always  has  good  times  on  Christmas  Eve, — sassengers 
and  mashed  for  supper,  and  plenty  of  them — but  [with 
a  sidelong  glance  at  Charles]  it  wouldn't  be  no  use 
asking  him,  most  like. 

Dickens 

It's  very,  very  good  of  you,  Bob,  to  want  to  Invite 
me.  But  I'd  rather  stay  here  to-night,  I  think.  You 
shall  tell  me  all  about  your  Christmas  when  we're  to- 


A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS      105 

gether  again.  But  you  mustn't  wait  any  longer  now. 
I've  made  you  quite  late  enough.  Good-night,  and  a 
Merry  Christmas. 

Bob 
A  Merry  Christmas  it  is,  then,  Master  Charles,  and 
good-night,  since  you're  bound  to  have  it  so.     And  [lo 
Mrs.  Gale]  good-night  to  you,  too,  ma'am.     [Bolts 
out.] 

Dickens 

[Very  slowly.]  Do  you  think,  Mrs.  Gale,  it's  very 
wrong  of  me  not  to  tell  Bob  that  father  and  mother  are 
living  in  the  prison  because  father  can't  pay  his  debts? 
Bob's  so  good  to  me.  Ought  I  to  tell  him,  do  you 
think? 

Mrs.  Gale 
[Briskly.]  Bless  your  little  heart,  I  don't  see  that 
there's  the  least  wrong  in  the  world  about  it.  It's  hard 
enough  for  a  little  gentleman  like  you  to  have  to  work 
alongside  of  such  rough  folk  without  them  knowing  all 
your  troubles,  to  make  sport  of  them,  most  likely.  If 
you  can  keep  your  troubles  to  yourself  without  telling 
fibs  about  them,  why,  so  much  the  better,  say  I.  But 
you're  surely  going  over  to  the  prison  to-night  to  see 
your  pa,  aren't  you? 

Dickens 
No,  Mrs.  Gale,  I'm  not  going  to-night.     We  used 
to  have  such  jolly  times  on  Christmas  Eve,  and  father 


io6      A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS 

was  always  the  happiest  of  us  all.  I  know  it  makes 
him  sad  now  to  think  of  our  spending  Christmas  Eve 
in  prison.  So  I  said  last  night  that  I  wouldn't  come 
again  till  Christmas  Day,  and  father  said  that  Fanny 
and  the  rest  could  spend  the  evening  at  my  godfather's. 

Mrs.  Gale 
So  you'll  be  going  to  your  godfather's  presently? 

Dickens 

No,  I  don't  care  to  go  anywhere  at  all  to-night;  I'd 
rather  stay  here. 

Mrs.  Gale 

[In  surprise]  Stay  all  by  yourself  on  Christmas 
Eve! 

Dickens 

Why,  yes.  I  sha'n't  mind  being  alone.  The  fire's 
nice  and  bright,  and  I  have  almost  a  whole  candle,  so 
that  I  shall  be  able  to  read  nearly  as  long  as  I  want  to. 

Mrs.  Gale 

Deary  me,  you're  never  going  to  sit  and  read  books 
to-night!  Another  lad  would  want  some  sport  on 
Christmas  Eve  instead  of  tiring  his  brains  with  books 
after  working  all  day  tying  up  those  nasty,  ugly,  black- 
ing bottles. 


A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS      107 

Dickens 
Oh,  Mrs.  Gale,  the  books  don't  tire  me,  indeed  they 
don't!  They're  just  friends — and  such  old  friends  too. 
I've  had  them  all  since  I  was  a  little  fellow,  no  more 
than  eight.  And  there  are  so  many  splendid  things  in 
them.  Now,  to-night  [enthusiastically},  I'm  going  to 
read  about  the  Christmases  they  used  to  have  long  ago — 
all  sorts  of  wonderful  sports.  Why,  they  even  had 
plays  about  Mince  Pie  and  Plum  Pudding.  Did  you 
ever  read  any  of  them,  Mrs.  Gale? 

Mrs.  Gale 
[Laughing.}      No,   I    never   read   any  plays   about 
mince  pies  and  plum  puddings.     It's  quite  enough  for 
me  to  make  pies  and  puddings. 

Dickens 

They're  not  ?-eally  pies  and  puddings,  you  know, 
just  people  dressed  up  to  look  like  them.  But  I  do 
love  to  read  about  the  plays  and  the  games  and  the 
dances.  It  seems  as  though  I  were  seeing  them  all, 
instead  of  only  reading  about  them.  That's  what  books 
are  for,  I  believe — to  make  people  happy. 

Mrs.  Gale 

[Shaking  her  head.}     Well,  my  boy,  you  shall  have 

it  your  own  way.     [Moving  slowly  toward  the  door.} 

Good-night,  then,  Master  Dickens,  and  keep  a  good 

heart.    Something'll  be  sure  to  happen  soon  to  get  your 


io8     A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS 

poor  father  out  of  prison  before  Christmas  is  many- 
days  old. 

Dickens 
[Smiling.]     That's  just  what  he  says  quite  often: 
"  Something  will  be  sure  to  turn  up."     Good-night, 
Mrs.  Gale. 

[Mrs.  Gale  goes  out.    Dickens  lights  his 
candle,  and  sitting  down   at  the  table, 
takes  a  book  and  begins  to  read  aloud,  at 
first  in  an  ordinary  tone,  but  more  and 
more  droivsily  as  he  proceeds. 
*  "  Any  man  or  woman  that  can  give  any  information 
or   tell   any   tidings  of  an   old,  old,   very   old,    gray- 
bearded  gentleman,  called  Christmas,  who  was  wont  to 
be  a  verie  familiar  guest  and  visit  all  sorts  of  people 
both  poor  and   rich,  and  used  to  appear  in  glittering 
gold,  silk,  and  silver  in  the  Court,  and  had  ringing, 
feasts,  and  jollity  in  all  places  both  in  the  citie  and 
countrie,    for   his  coming    [very    drowsily]    whosoever 
can   tell   what  is   become   of   him,   or  where   he   may 
be    found, — let — them — bring — him — back — again — to 
— England." 

[Leans  back  in  his  chair,  letting  the  book 
fall  from  his  hand.  After  a  moment's 
pause,  the  music  of  "  Silent  Night,  Holy 
Night  "  is  faintly  heard.  As  the  music 
dies  away,  a  slender  figure,  wearing  a 
long  green  robe  trinuned  with  holly  and 
mistletoe,  appears  in  the  doorway. 
♦From  "A  Hue-and-Cry  After  Christmas." 


A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS     109 

Dickens 

[f'l^ith  a  sigh.]  What  beautiful  music!  It's  Christ- 
mas music,  too!  [Seeing  the  visitor.]  And  you — 
[dreamily]  look  like  the  Christmas  angel  on  the  cover 
of  my  old  carol-book.  But  that  would  be  too  won- 
derful! 

Spirit 

[Advancing.]  Nay,  dear  child,  I  am  the  Spirit  of 
Christmas.  You  have  read  in  the  books  that  you  love 
so  much  [laying  his  hand  on  the  shabby  pile]  how  in 
olden  days  no  witch  or  evil  spirit  had  power  to  charm 
on  Christmas  Eve.  It  is  only  the  messengers  of  love 
and  kindness,  of  peace  and  good-will,  that  can  walk 
abroad  on  that  blessed  night.  Then  we  are  free  to 
wander  where  we  will,  and,  with  all  the  people  in  this 
mighty  city  to  choose  from,  I  have  come  to  spend  this 
Christmas  Eve  with  you. 

Dickens 

But  though  I  love  to  read  about  Christmas,  I  am 
only  a  boy  who  works  in  the  blacking  factory.  I  don't 
understand  why  you  should  have  thought  of  me. 

Spirit 

Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year,  as  the  old  song 
says,  but  the  Christmas  feeling  is  always  at  work  in  the 
world.  No  kindly  deed  is  done  without  it,  no  loving 
wish  uttered,  no  friendly  greeting  spoken.     It  is  be- 


no    A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS 

cause,  young  as  you  are,  you  have  done  your  part  to 
cheer  and  comfort  those  around  you,  that  I  have  chosen 
to  come  to  you  to-night,  and  to  bring  you  some  share  of 
Christmas  joys  and  jollity. 


Dickens 

But  all  the  real  Christmas  jollity  happened  long  ago, 
in  the  days  when  people  in  the  country  played  merry 
games  and  feasted  and  sang  carols  from  Christmas  Eve 
until  Twelfth  Night.  In  this  poor  end  of  London, 
there's  far  too  much  work  and  too  little  play  for  any 
such  Christmas  doings  as  those.  Ah!  [with  a  sigh] 
I  should  have  liked  to  see  them  for  myself — just  once. 

Spirit 

And  so  you  shall,  and  here,  if  I  mistake  not  [joyful 
music  is  heard],  is  good  Father  Christmas  himself  with 
a  merry  troop  at  his  heels,  as  is  his  ancient  custom. 
You  will  not  lack  for  old-time  mirth  and  jollity  while 
he  is  your  guest. 

[The  Spirit  moves  to  the  left  side  of  stage 
and  watches  the  scene  with  a  smile  of 
quiet  content.  Enter  Father  Christ- 
mas, with  long  white  hair  and  beard, 
dressed  in  a  scarlet  coat  and  cap.  The 
personages  in  his  retinue  are  two  fat 
cooks  in  stiff  white  caps  and  aprons,  one 
carrying  a  rolling-pin  and  a  sieve,  and 


A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS     iii 

the  other  a  skillet;  also  a  scullion  in  a 
blue  calico  apron,  brandishing  a  toasting- 
fork;  a  boy  in  a  holly-trimmed  jester's 
costume  of  red  and  green  to  represent 
Holly,  and  a  girl  in  soft  gray  robes 
decorated  with  vines  to  represent  IvY. 
The  Lord  of  Misrule,  dressed  in  a 
purple  cap  and  cape,  with  a  great  yellow 
rujf  and  a  colored  wand,  folloiued  by 
four  pages  in  tunics  and  capes  of  con- 
trasting colors,  enters  behind  Father 
Christmas  and  marshals  the  others, 
who  appear  at  the  mention  of  their  names 
and  take  positions  to  the  right  and  the 
left  of  the  stage. 

Father  Christmas 

\_At  center  of  stage'\ 

*  Behold  a  personage  well-known  to  fame, 
Once  loved  and  honored.    Christmas  is  my  name. 
My  officers  of  state  my  taste  display: 
Cooks,  scullions,  pastry-cooks,  prepare  my  way. 
Holly  and  Ivy  round  me  honors  spread. 

[Holly   and   Ivy   make   graceful  gestures 
ivith  branches. 
And  my  retinue  [pointing  to  cooks]  show  I'm  not  ill- 
fed. 

*  From  the  Prologue  to  Garriek's  "  A  Christmas  Tale." 


112    A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS 

Though  old  and  white  my  locks,  my  cheeks  are  cherry; 
Warmed  by  good  fires,  good  cheer,  I'm  always  merry. 
With  carol,  fiddle,  dance,  and  pleasant  tale, 
Jest,  gibe,  prank,  gambol,  m,ummery  and  ale, 
I  English  hearts  rejoiced  in  days  of  yore. 
You  will  not  sure  turn  Christmas  out  of  door. 
Old  Father  Christmas  now  in  all  his  glory 
Begs  with  kind  hearts  you'll  listen  to  his  story. 

[To  Misrule] 

Go  on,  prepare  my  bounty  for  my  friends, 
And  see  that  mirth  with  all  her  crew  attends. 

[Father  Christmas  se^its  himself  on  the 
high-backed  chair  to  the  left.  The 
Lord  of  Misrule  takes  the  center  of 
the  stage  with  HoLLY  to  his  right  and 
Ivy  to  his  left,  and  recites: 

Holly  and  Ivy  once  made  a  great  party, 
Who  should  have  the  mastery 
In  landes  where  they  go. 

Thus  spake  Holly: 

Holly 

"  I  am  free  and  jolly; 
I  will  have  the  mastery 
In  landes  where  we  go." 


A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS     113 

Misrule 
Thus  spake   Ivy: 

Ivy 

"  I  am  loved  and  proved, 
And  /  will  have  the  mastery 
In  landes  where  we  go." 

Misrule 
Then  spake  Holly  and  set  him  down  on  his  knee; 

Holly 

[Recites,  kneelingi 
"  I  pray  thee,  gentle  Ivy,  say  me  no  villainy 
In  landes  where  we  go." 

Misrule 

Nay,  gentle  Ivy,  nay,  it  shall  not  be,  I  wis 
Let  Holly  have  the  mastery,  as  the  manner  is. 

[Ivy  retires  to  a  corner  disconsolately,  her 
vines  trailing  behind  her.  Holly,  mov- 
ing with  dancing  steps,  presents  branches 
to  Father  Christmas  and  the  other 
actors  and,  throwing  back  his  jester's 
cap,  is  crowned  with  a  wreath  of  holly 
by  Father  Christmas  while  the 
"  Holly  and  Ivy  "  carol  is  sung  by  the 
actors  or  behind  the  scenes. 


114    A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS 


THE  HOLLY  AND  THE  IVY 


SS 


^-- 


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^' 


?«/"!.  The  hoi  -  ly  and  the    i   -    vy  Now  both  are  full  well 


^m 


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grown,    Of    all   the  trees  that  are    in  the  wood,  The 
/-  ^-•-  ^     -^    -fi-     -m-.^-ft.  u 

_B_i_» — I- —  ip — 


K— K— »- 


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^ 


Chorus. 


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hoi  -  ly  bears  the    crown 


£_|L_t-^ii* 


O      the  ris  -  ing 

^ 


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llg 


S 


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of 


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the  sun,  The  run-ning    of     the      deer.     The 

-0-^1 


^m 


g 


I 


I — r-: 


A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS     115 


m^^ 


*^t,i^^ 


H — I — ^ 


3=3 


^  u 


rr 


^.•^tt*^-^ 


play-ing  of  the  mer-ry  or-gan,  Sweet  singing  in  the 


vHV—b^ 


:t 


-«■»■ 


P^if 


f^ 


P 


4^: 


<t-- 


quire, 


Sweet  sing 

^ 


r 


ing 


the 


quire. 


Father  Christmas 

[Advancing  to  the  center  of  the  stage  from  his  chair 
as  the  other  actors  fall  backJ\ 
*  Again  come  I,  old  Father  Christmas 
Welcome,  or  welcome  not, 
I  hope  old  Father  Christmas 
Will  never  be  forgot! 

[Looking  around  at  audience. 
I  am  not  come  here  for  to  laugh  or  to  jeer, 
But  to  show  some  sport  and  pastime, 
Gentlemen  and  ladies,  in  the  Christmas  time. 

*  Adapted  from  the  version  of  the  old  Christmas  mumming 
used   in  the  West  of  England. 


ii6    A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS 

If  you  will  not  believe  what  I  do  say, 
Enter  the  King  of  E^'pt — clear  the  way! 

[Enter  the  King  of  Egypt,  dressed  in  dark 
flowing  garments  ivith  Oriental  trim- 
mings. 

The  King  of  Egypt 

Here  I,  the  King  of  Egypt,  boldly  do  appear, 
St.  George,  St.  George,  walk  in,  my  son  and  heir! 
Walk  in,  my  son  St.  George,  and  act  thy  part. 
That  all  the  people  here  may  see  thy  wondrous  art. 
[Enter  St.   George   in   a  shining  corselet, 
bearing  a  shield  and  a  sivord. 

St.  George 

Here  come  I,  St.  George;  from  Britain  did  I  spring, 

I'll  fight  the  Dragon  bold,  my  wonders  to  begin. 

I'll  clip  his  wings,  he  shall  not  fly. 

I'll  cut  him  down,  or  else  I  die. 

[Enter  the  Dragon,  dressed  in  a  tight- 
fitting  garment  of  brown,  covered  ivith 
silver  disks  to  represent  scales.  He  has 
a  grotesque  head  and  a  long  tail. 

The  Dragon 

Who's  he  that  seeks  the  Dragon's  blood, 
And  calls  so  angry  and  so  loud? 


A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS     117 

That  English  dog,  will  he  before  me  stand? 
I'll  cut  him  down  with  my  courageous  hand. 

[St.  George  and  the  Dragon  fight;  the 
Dragon  is  killed. 

Father  Christmas 

Is  fhere  a  doctor  to  be  found 

All  ready,  near  at  hand, 

To  cure  a  deep  and  deadly  wound, 

And  make  the  champion  stand? 

[Enter  the  Doctor  in  skull-cap  and  spec- 
tacles, wearing  a  black  coat  and  short 
trousers,  black  stockings  and  low  shoes 
with  large  buckles. 

Doctor 

Oh,  yes!  there  is  a  doctor  to  be  found 
All  ready,  near  at  hand, 
To  cure  a  deep  and  deadly  wound. 
And  make  the  champion  stand. 

Father  Christmas 
What  can  you  cure? 

Doctor 

All  sorts  of  diseases, 

Whatever  you  pleases. 

The  phthisis,  the  palsy,  and  the  gout — 

Whatever  disorder,  I'll  soon  pull  him  out. 


ii8    A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS 

Father  Christmas 
What  is  j'our  fee  ? 

Doctor 

Fifteen  pounds  it  is  my  fee 

The  money  to  lay  down, 

But  as  'tis  such  a  rogue  as  he,  [pointing  to  the  Dragon] 

I'll  cure  him  for  ten  pound. 

[The  Doctor  gives  the  Dragon  medicine. 
The  Dragon  revives.  St.  George  and 
the  Dragon  fight  a  second  time  and  the 
Dragon  is  again  killed. 

St.  George 

Here  am  I,  St.  George,  that  worthy  champion  bold, 
And  with  my  sword  and  spear,  I've  won  three  crowns 

of  gold ; 
I've  fought  the  fiery  dragon  and  brought  him  to  the 

slaughter ; 
By  that   I've  won    fair   Sabra,   the  King  of   Egypt's 
daughter. 

[Sabra,  clad  in  flowing  white  robes,  ad- 
vances to  St.  George,  regarding  the 
prostrate  Dragon  with  looks  of  horror. 
At  Father  Christmas's  next  words, 
all  the  characters  retire  to  the  hack  of  the 
stage,  the  Dragon  rising  and  following 
the  rest. 


A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS     119 
Father  Christmas 

Now,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  this  sport  is  just  ended. 
So  prepare  for  the  next,  which  is  highly  commended. 
\^The  Lord  of  Misrule  marshals  in  a  fid- 
dler and  six  couples  dressed  as  Morris 
Dancers.  Girls  wear  short  skirts,  brown, 
gray,  or  red,  luith  a  band  of  contrasting 
material  at  the  bottom,  ivaists  of  same 
material,  zvith  full  sleeves  to  elboiv, 
white  aprons  ivithout  bibs,  white  ker- 
chiefs, lozu  shoes  with  rosettes,  and 
rosettes  zvith  flowing  ends  on  left  shoul- 
der. Boys  zvear  short  trousers,  full  at 
the  knee,  white  shirts  loosely  tucked  in 
at  the  belt,  long  colored  stockings,  bands 
with  bells  just  below  the  knee,  and  hats 
of  colored  cloth  made  with  small  brims 
and  soft  crowns.  The  fiddler  tuears 
short  trousers,  a  jacket  of  bright  colors, 
and  a  tall  hat  trimmed  with  a  colored 
band  and  cockade. 

*Dance  [The  Derby  Ram] 

^Couples  form  a  ring,  dancing  from  left  to 
right.  A  boy  placed  in  center  sings  the 
first  stanza,  and  at  the  end  pulls  his  suc- 
cessor roughly  into  the  ring  to  sing  the 
next,  and  so  on.    At  the  chorus,  the  girls 

*  Old   English   folk-song   and  dance. 


120    A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS 

turn,  first  toward  the  boy  to  the  right  and 
then  to  the  boy  to  the  left,  and  shaking 
the  forefinger  reprovingly,  sing:  "  And 
indeed,  Sir,"  etc.  All  join  hands  in  a 
ring  at  the  last  line  of  the  chorus. 

I 

As  I  was  going  to  Derbj',  Sir,  'twas  on  a  summer's  day, 
I  met  the  finest  ram.  Sir,  that  ever  was  fed  on  hay. 

Chorus  of  Girls 

And  indeed.  Sir,  'tis  true.  Sir,  I  never  was  given  to 

lie, 
And  if  you'd  been  to  Derby,  Sir,  you'd  have  seen  him 

as  well  as  I. 

II 

It  had  four  feet  to  walk  on,  Sir,  it  had  four  feet  to  stand, 
And  every  foot  it  had,  Sir,  did  cover  an  acre  of  land. 
Chorus: — And  indeed,  Sir,  etc. 

Ill 

The  horns  that  were  on  its  head,  Sir,  held  a  regiment  of 

men, 
And  the  tongue  that  was  in  its  head,  Sir,  would  feed 

them  every  one. 
Chorus: — And  indeed,  Sir,  etc. 


A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS     121 

IV 

The  wool  that  was  on  its  back,  Sir,  made  fifty  packs  of 

cloth, 
And  for  to  tell  a  lie.  Sir,  I'm  sure,  I'm  ver}'  loth. 
Chorus: — And  indeed.  Sir,  etc. 

V 

The  wool  that  was  on  its  sides,  Sir,  made  fifty  more 

complete, 
And  it  was  sent  to  Russia,  Sir,  to  clothe  the  Emperor's 
fleet. 
Chorus: — And  indeed.  Sir,  etc. 

VI 

The  tail  was  fifty  yards,  Sir,  as  near  as  I  can  tell. 
And  it  was  sent  to  Rome,  Sir,  to  ring  St.  Peter's  bell. 
Chorus: — And  indeed.  Sir,  etc. 

[Dancers  leave  stage. 


THE  DERBY  RAM 


Allegro. 


daz 


y^z 


As       I      was    go-ing    to    Der-by,  sir, 'T was 

I       N    r~^ ,N 


:a=1: 


& 


:^=i!=iH: 


•— -1 


'^^^ 


122    A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS 


hay.      And  in  -  deed,     sir,    'tis    true,      sir,      I 


A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS     123 


-P \ H- 

^     -0-        -0- 

nev-erwasgiv'n  to     lie.      And  if  you'd  been  to 


1 -I — H ^ P 

I- — • — m — « — • -i' 

-•-   -•-   -8-   -•-     -•- 


^^^^^ 


-T 


I      I     ^ 


■:ir 


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^^ 


:ir^J: 


^ 


•0-  -J-  ^  -•- 


3" 


* 


1^=^ 


T 


=t 


t 


y  •  ^  1" 


Der-by,  sir,  You'd  have  seen  him  as  well    as    I. 

--F^jlj- inmiMi 1 1 ^  — 1/ 


-»-  V 


[The  Lord  of  Misrule  to  the  audience.] 
These  dances  were  performed  of  yore 
By  many  worthy  Elves. 
Now  if  you  will  have  any  more, 
Pray  shake  your  heels  yourselves. 

[While  the  music  of  the  Boars-Head 
Carol  is  faintly  heard,  a  tall  youth  (the 
Bearer)    enters    dressed    in    a   scarlet 


124    A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS 

doublet  and  trunk  hose,  bearing  aloft  a 
Boar's  Head  on  a  huge  platter  garnished 
with  sprigs  of  green.  The  Bearer 
stands  at  the  center  of  the  stage  with 
Father  Christmas  at  his  right  and 
the  Lord  of  Misrule  at  his  left,  the 
others  grouped  around,  while  the  carol 
is  sung.  At  the  second  repetition  of  the 
chorus  he  fnoves  toward  the  door  fol- 
lowed by  Misrule,  St.  George,  and 
the  other  characters  in  the  pageant. 
Father  Christmas  preceded  by  his 
cooks  bringing  up  the  rear 


A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS     125 
THE  BOAR'S  HEAD  CAROL 


?z 


I 


The  boar's  head  in  hand  bear 

Maestoso. 


Be 


PEi 


=^ 


-J — I 


s 


^ 


4 


^- 


^-— r 


mf 


e 


^ 


-M^m^ 


-f^ 


decked    with     bays  and    rose    -    ma 


ry. 


^ 


a; 


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^= 


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^ 


-^ 


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And    I     pray    you,  my    mas  -   ters,     be 


3: 


:i(=^==^ 


1^=^ 


P 


126    A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS 


i 


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g  •    p» 


Chorus,  {ad lib.) 


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put       a    -    pri        de    -  fer 


0, 


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d= 


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4 


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A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS     127 


=1: 


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=^ 


-g 


Red-  dens      lau   -    des       do 


7m  -   no. 


-G>-  -O^  -&- 

Red  -  dens      lau 


5 


Red-  dens      lau   -    des       do 


m^ 


± 


i 


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^ 


II 

The  Boar's  head,  as  I  understand, 
Is  the  bravest  dish  in  all  the  land, 
When  thus  bedecked  with  a  gay  garland, 
Let  us  servire  cantico. 
Chorus: — Caput  apri  defero.  Reddens  laudes  domino. 
[Characters  in  the  pageant  pass  out,  singing. 


Dickens 
\^Rising  from  his  chair  as  the  last  figure  disappears,  to 
Spirit.]    Why,  it  was  all  just  as  my  old  books  say!    It 


128    A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS 

seems  so  wonderful  that  you  should  have  made  me  see 
it!  England  was  \ltxry  England  when  Father  Christ- 
mas brought  revels  like  those.  But  everything  is  so 
different  now!  I  wish  I  could  do  something  to  bring 
those  happy  times  back,  though  I  don't  see  what  I  can 
ever  do,  after  all. 

Spirit 

But  I  do,  dear  child.  Kind  wishes  that  are  uttered 
on  Christmas  Eve  have  a  strange  power  of  making 
themselves  come  true.  Perhaps  it  is  because  the  spirits 
who  are  abroad  on  that  happy  night  welcome  them  so 
eagerly,  and  hurry  them  forward  on  their  way  to  do 
their  beautiful  work  in  the  world. 

Dickens 

Well,  then  [eagerly],  I  will  tell  you  all  of  my 
Christmas  wish,  before  it  is  too  late.  [PFith  an 
anxious  look  at  the  clock  on  the  mantel.]  Everj'^  day 
as  I  go  to  my  work,  I  see  so  many  people  who  are  sad 
and  tired,  and  happiness  seems  very  far  from  them.  I 
wish  I  could  do  something  to  bring  it  a  little  nearer, 
not  only  on  Christmas  Day  but  every  day.  Then  there 
would  be  a  sort  of  Christmas  all  the  year  round,  would- 
n't there? 

Spirit 

When  love  and  good-will  do  their  beautiful  work 
all  the  year  round,  and  no  one  forgets  his  neighbor, 


A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS     129 

rich  or  poor,  then  there  will  come  a  new  kind  of  happy 
Christmas — the  Christmas  that  you  wish  for.  And 
there  is  a  boy  growing  up  in  London  to-day  who  will 
do  much  to  make  your  wish  come  true. 

Dickens 
How  can  a  boy  do  that? 

Spirit 

His  own  heart  will  teach  him  how  to  understand  the 
lives  of  the  poor  about  him,  and  some  day  he  will  tell 
their  story  so  well  that  the  whole  world  will  listen  and 
will  understand  too.  [Alusic  of  "  Silent  Night  "  is 
faintly  heard.^  Now  I  have  told  you  of  your  share  in 
the  Christmases  that  are  to  come,  for — you  are  the  boy. 
Farewell,  and — remember. 

[As  the  Spirit  passes  out,  Dickens  sinks 

into    his   chair  as   if   once   ?nore  asleep. 

Pause.     A  loud  knocking  at  the  door  is 

heard. 

Dickens 

[Starting  up.]  I  must  have  been  asleep!  And 
what  a  beautiful  dream  I've  had!  [Knocking  is  re- 
peated.]    Who  can  that  be,  I  wonder! 

[Hurries  to  the  door  and  opens  it;  Fanny 
Dickens  rushes  in. 

Dickens 

Why,  Fanny!     Whatever  brings  j'ou  here? 


I30    A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS 

Fanny 

[Engerly.1     Oh,  Charley,  I've  such  news  for  you. 

Dickens 

[Quickly.]  Is  it  good  news?  Then  it  must  be 
about  father. 

Fanny 

Yes,  you've  guessed  it!  Father  won't  have  to  stay  in 
prison  any  longer.     He's  going  to  pay  all  his  debts. 

Dickens 
But  how  can  he? 

Fanny 

Don't  you  remember  that  when  Cousin  John  in  the 
country  died  last  year  he  left  father  some  money  in  his 
will  and 

Dickens 

Yes,  but  the  lawyers  wouldn't  give  it  to  him. 

Fanny 

[Hurriedly.]  But  now  they  have,  and  father  got 
a  letter  to-night  about  it.  He's  to  leave  prison  to- 
morrow and  we  are  going  to  have  a  house  again,  and 
you  can  stay  at  home.  You're  to  come  back  directly 
with  us  and  hear  all  about  it,  and  be  as  happy  as  we 
always  used  to  be  on  Christmas  Eve. 


A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS     131 

Dickens 

[Quietly.]  I  am  happy,  to  be  sure.  [Mrs.  Gale 
enters.]  Oh!  Mrs.  Gale,  just  think  what's  happened! 
Father's  going  to  get  the  money  to  pay  his  debts  and 
get  out  of  prison  directly. 

Mrs.  Gale 
Bless  your  brave  little  heart!  So  that's  why  Miss 
Fanny  was  so  anxious  to  see  her  brother  all  in  a  hurry, 
is  it?  Didn't  I  always  tell  you  something  would  be 
sure  to  turn  up?  But  I  didn't  look  for  it  quite  so  soon 
as  this.  Well,  there's  no  one  whose  good  luck  I'd  be 
gladder  of,  Master  Dickens,  though  I  do  have  to  look 
for  another  lodger.  But  you'll  give  me  a  thought,  once 
in  a  bit,  when  you're  safe  and  comfortable  in  your  own 
home  again  ? 

Dickens 
Indeed  I  will,  Mrs.  Gale.     I  won't  ever  forget  how 
kind  you've  been  to  me. 

Mrs.  Gale 
Why,  as  to  that,  it  would  be  a  poor  sort  of  woman 
who  wouldn't  want  to  show  a  bit  of  kindness  now  and 
then  to  a  lad  like  you!  But  never  mind  about  me 
now.  Wrap  yourself  up  and  get  off  as  fast  as  you  can 
to  wish  your  father  a  happy  Christmas.  [Ties  Dick- 
ens's tippet  round  his  neck  and  hands  him  his  cap.] 
Good-by,  now,  and  a  Merry  Christmas! 

[Fanny  goes  out. 


132    A  CHRISTMAS  EVE  WITH  DICKENS 

Dickens 

[Pauses  for  a  moment  before  folloiving  his  sister  and 
says  quietly]  :  I  shall  always  remember !  It  z^  a  Merry 
Christmas! 

[A  few  bars  of  Christmas  music  are  heard 
again. 

Mrs.  Gale 

[Opening  the  door  and  looking  out.]  I  wonder 
what  it  is  that  the  lad  will  always  remember.  But  it  is 
a  Merry  Christmas.     God  bless  them,  every  one! 


THE   FAIRIES'    PLEA 


THE    FAIRIES'    PLEA 

An    interlude   for   Shakespeare   Day.     Adapted    from 
Thomas     Hood's     "  Plea     of     the     Midsummer 


Fairies. 


CHARACTERS 


TiTANiA.  A  Meadow  Fairy. 

Puck.  Other  Fairies. 

A  Flower  Fairy.  Time.  • 

A  Forester  Fairy.  Shakespeare. 

Scene:  A  woodland.  In  the  center  of  the  fore- 
ground TiTANiA ;  in  the  background  two  green-clad 
fairies  with  silver  bugles. 

TiTANIA 

Go  forth,  ye  twain,  and  with  a  trump  convene 
my  lieges  all ! 

[^The  trumpeters  step  to  opposite  sides  of 
the  stage  and  blow  a  shrill  but  sweet- 
toned  blast.  The  fairies  appear.  All 
bow  before  Titania,  then  group  them- 
selves about   her. 

Titania 
O  fays,  a  danger  menaces! 
135 


136  THE  FAIRIES'  PLEA 

Flower  Fairy 
What  danger,  gracious  queen? 

TiTANIA 

Have  ye  forgotten,  subject  sprites,  upon  what  a 
slender  thread  our  fairy  lives  have  ever  hung?  Do  ye 
not  know  that  when  men's  fickle  faith  in  us  ceases,  we 
must  fade  and  perish?  [Fairies  murmur  sorrow- 
fully.^ Only  the  poets  have  given  us  our  length  of 
days,  and  now  that  their  pouer  is  waning,  our  lives 
must  wane  with  it.  To-day  I  awoke  from  troubled 
dreams,  and  saw  within  the  very  limits  of  our  realm 
a  dreadful  shape.  Gaunt  he  was,  and  grim,  with  a 
single  lock  of  wintry  white  overhanging  his  frown- 
ing brow.  Upon  a  staff  he  bore  a  curving  blade,  and 
as  he  waved  it  to  and  fro,  I  seemed  to  feel  its  cruel 
edge,  and  knew  that  our  fate  was  well-nigh  upon  us. 
See!  even  now  he  comes!  [Shuddering  and  draiving 
back.]  Alas,  for  us  wretched  sprites!  'Tis  Death  or 
Time! 

[Time  enters;  the  fairies  all  cower  together. 

Titania 
[Kneeling  before  him.]     Master  of  all  things,  have 
pity  upon  us! 

Time 
[Planting  his  scythe  upon  the  ground,  and  gazing 
grimly  upon  TiTANiA.]     Thou  feeble,  wanton,  fickle, 


THE  FAIRIES'  PLEA  137 

foolish  thing,  speak  not  to  me  of  pity!     My  joy  lies  in 
destruction. 

TiTANIA 

Fairies,  plead  for  your  race! 

Flower  Fairy 
Great  King  of  years,  why  have  our  little  lives  in- 
curred thy  hate?  We  are  kindly  creatures  all,  and 
help  poor  mortals  in  their  toilsome  lot.  Young  lovers 
seek  our  haunts,  and  know  themselves  secure.  And 
when  the  mother  sits  beside  her  babe,  we  kiss  its 
dimpling  cheek,  and  bring  the  smile  she  looks  for. 
Spare  us  for  the  sake  of  Love! 

Time 

Naught  know  I  of  Love,  nor  aught  of  lovers,  save 
that  my  strength  can  part  them.  And  children — I 
devour  my  own!  What  care  have  I  for  women  or 
their  babes? 

Forester  Fairy 
[Doffing  his  acorn-cup  cap.'\  Have  pity  on  the  tiny 
woodsmen,  who  knit  the  boughs  to  screen  the  birds 
from  foes  that  seek  their  nests!  We  frame  the  arches 
of  the  shady  forest,  where  men  lie  down  to  hide  away 
from  care.  We  scoop  the  squirrel's  hollow  cell,  and 
give  the  rough  gray  trunk  its  soft  garment  of  ivy  or  of 
moss.     Spare  us  for  the  sake  of  the  sweet  greenwood! 


138  THE  FAIRIES'  PLEA 

Time 

Say  naught  to  me  of  forests  or  of  birds!  The  rustle 
of  the  dead  leaves  through  the  autumn  air  is  sweeter 
far  to  me  than  the  flight  of  the  most  tuneful  songsters! 
And  there  is  no  beauty  for  me  in  the  woodland,  save 
when  the  brown  limbs  are  bleak  and  bare — like  Na- 
ture in  her  skeleton!  The  hour  has  come  to  bid  fare- 
well to  tangled  branches  and  the  nests  they  hold. 
Delay  me  not  with  vain  prayers! 

Meadow  Fairy 

O  let  us  live,  Eternal  King!  See  how  we  rejoice 
in  all  that  earth  can  give !  Remember,  too,  how  oft 
we  teach  others  to  share  our  joy.  Did  we  not,  in  rov- 
ing through  these  very  meadows,  once  find  a  babe — 
deserted,  and  alone,  and  like  to  perish; — and  did  we 
not  then  take  the  shape  of  grasshoppers,  and  with  our 
shrill  call,  summon  help?  A  tender-hearted  rustic 
reared  our  foundling,  and  all  London  town  knows  the 
lordly  merchant  who  bears  a  grasshopper  as  his  chosen 
crest.    Why  slay  us,  who  have  served  mankind  so  well  ? 


Time 

l^Is  about  to  answer  angrily,  when  PuCK,  ivho  has 
been  indulging  in  all  sorts  of  freakish  pranks,  comes 
within  reach  of  his  arm.  He  seizes  PuCK  fiercely.} 
Impish  mischief,  who  art  thou? 


THE  FAIRIES'  PLEA  139 

Puck 
[Implorin<{ly.^      Alas!     I   am  but  a  little   random 
elf,   whose   life  is  only  merry.      I   have  no   task   but 
teaching  men  to  smile.     Good  hoary  master,  set  me 
free,  and  I  will  show  thee  many  a  pleasant  sport ! 

Time 
[Shaking  his  scythe.]  Thou  foolish  antic,  to  hope 
to  win  me  to  a  smile!  I  change  all  merriment  to 
gloom!  Look  here  upon  this  handle  of  my  scythe!  It 
was  a  Maypole  once,  and  bore  a  flowery  crown,  and 
rustics  danced  about  it.  But  I  plucked  it  down  and 
laid  the  dancers  low,  and  so  will  I  do  to  thee  and  thine! 

TiTANIA 

Is  there  none  to  save  us  from  Time's  wrath?  [A 
sudden  flutter  among  the  fairies.]  Lo!  here  is  one  who 
hath  power  even  over  Time  himself ! 

[Shakespeare  *  enters.    At  sight  of  him 
Time  drops  his  scythe  with  a  crash. 

TiTANIA 

[Kneeling  before  Shakespeare.]  Immortal  poet, 
who  art  Time's  sole  rival,  save  us  from  his  dreaded 
blade !  Thou  alone  hast  strength  to  withstand  it — 
shield  us  then,  and  we  will  repay  thy  love  by  giving 
thee  such  glimpses  of  our  faery  realm  as  never  poet's 
eye  beheld ! 

*  Shakespeare  should  wear  an  Elizabethan  costume.  If  pos- 
sible, an  attempt  should  be  made  to  have  his  appearance  con- 
vey some  suggestion  of  the  Chandos  portrait. 


140  THE  FAIRIES'  PLEA 

Shakespeare 

[Facing  Time  and  pointing  to  the  fairiesi 

I 

*  These  be  the  pretty  genii  of  the  flowers, 

Daintily  fed  with  honey  and  pure  dew — 

Midsummer's  phantoms  in  her  dreaming  hours, 

King  Oberon  and  all  his  merry  crew, 

The  darling  puppets  of  romance's  view, 

Fairies,  and  sprites,  and  goblin  elves  we  call  them, 

Famous  for  patronage  of  lovers  true; 

No  harm  they  act,  neither  shall  harm  befall  them, 

So  do  not  thus  with  crabbed  frowns  appall  them. 

II 

[For]   unto  them  are  poets  much  beholden 
For  secret  favors  in  the  midnight  glooms; 
Brave  Spenser  quaffed  out  of  their  goblets  golden, 
And  saw  their  tables  spread  of  prompt  mushrooms 
And  heard  their  horns  of  honeysuckle  blooms 
Sounding  upon  the  air  most  soothing  soft. 
Like  humming  bees  busy  about  the  brooms — 
And  glanced  this  fair  queen's  witchery  full  oft, 
And  in  her  magic  wain  soared  far  aloft. 

Ill 

Nay,  I  myself,  though  mortal,  once  was  nursed 
By  fairy  gossips,  friendly  at  my  birth, 

•The  lines  spoken  by  Shakespeare  are  quoted  directly  from 
Hood's  poem. 


THE  FAIRIES'  PLEA  141 

And  in  my  childish  ear  glib  Mab  rehearsed 

Her  breezy  travels  round  our  planet's  girth, 

Telling  me  wonders  of  the  moon  and  earth ; 

My  gramarj  e  at  her  grave  lap  I  conned, 

Where  Puck  hath  been  convened  to  make  me  mirth ; 

I  have  had  from  Queen  Titania  tokens  fond. 

And  toyed  w^ith  Oberon's  permitted  wand! 

IV 

Wherefore  with  all  true  loyalty  and  duty 

Will  I  regard  them  in  my  honoring  rhyme. 

With  love  for  love,  and  homages  to  beauty, 

And  magic  thoughts  gathered  in  night's  cool  clime, 

With  studious  verse  trancing  the  dragon  Time, 

Strong  as  old  Merlin's  necromantic  spells ; 

So  these  dear  monarchs  of  the  summer's  prime 

Shall  live  unstartled  by  his  dreadful  yells, 

Till  shrill  lark  warn  them  to  their  flowery  cells. 

[Time,  with  a  show  of  great  fury,  attempts 
to  raise  his  scythe  as  if  to  strike  Shake- 
speare, but  after  repeated  efforts,  finds 
himself  powerless.  He  then  shuffles  off, 
casting  looks  of  baffled  rage  at  the  fairies, 
who  cluster  about  Shakespeare. 

Titania 

[IVaving  her  wand.'\  About  him.  Elves,  and  honor 
him ;  for,  had  he  not  been  here  to  save  us,  the  silkworm 
now  had  spun  our  shroud ! 

[Fairies  dance  in  a  circle  about  Shake- 
speare, Titania  remaining  at  the  right 


142  THE  FAIRIES'  PLEA 

of  the  stage,  while  PuCK  frolics  about 
her.  The  faint  crowing  of  a  cock  is 
heard. 

Puck 

Away!  'Tis  Chanticleer!  Now  comes  the  dawn! 
[TiTAXiA  raises  her  wand  with  a  gesture 
of  command.  The  fairies  group  them- 
selves irregularly  about  Shakespeare 
and  move  with  him  slowly  towards  the 
exit,  singing  as  they  go.  Titania  fol- 
lows with   Puck  in  attendance. 

Fairies'  Song 
[Ariel's  song  from  "  The  Tempest."] 

Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I; 
In  the  cowsh'p's  bell  I  lie; 

There  I  couch  when  owls  do  cry; 

On  the  bat's  back  I  do  fly 

After  summer  merrily. 

Merrily,  merrily  shall  I  live  now, 

Under  the  blossom  that  hangs  on  the  bough! 


THE  FAIRIES'  PLEA 


143 


WHERE  THE  BEE  SUCKS 

Air  by  Pelham  Humfrey  (seventeenth  century). 


a 


^ 


> 


-N-f? 


:SJ=t 


tj 


Where  the  bee  sucks  there  suck   I : 


In   a 


cowslip's  bell  I    lie;    There  I   couch  when  owls  do 


--A-=^- 


^ 


It 


cry:  On  the  bat's  back  I     do  fly     A£-ter    sum-mer 


Met-  ri  -  ly,  met  -  ri  -  ly  shall  I   live  now 


'-^^^t 


it*: 


Un  -  der  the  blos-som  that  hangs  on  the  bough 


^^ 


:^=T 


^ 


Mer  -  ri  -  ly,  mer  -  ri  -  ly  shall  I   live  now, 


144 


THE  FAIRIES'  PLEA 


rail. 


-M — ^    — I 1_^ 


-  der  the  bios  -  som  that  hangs  on  the  bough! 


-I- 


=|t 


-  ri  -  ly,  mer  -  ri  -  ly  shall  I   live  now 


^m 


der  the  blossom  that  hangs  on  the  bough  ! 


t=t: 


:Ht 


4tT 


It 


=]=: 


1-- 
ri  -  ly,  mer  -  ri-ly  shall  I   live  now 

1^  lall. 

=J!M     ^     :iHiqai»:|i:j^^_  ^    j       -H 
— ^ — H — p — •-*— I — i-h^ — I ^ — I — - 1 


der  the  blos-som  that  hangs  on  the  bough. 


BOOKS    ON    AND    OF    SCHOOL    PLAYS 

By  Constance  D'Arcy  Mackay 

HOW  TO  PRODUCE  CHILDREN'S  PLAYS 

The  author  is  a  recognized  authority  on  the  production 
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Transcript. 

THE  SILVER  THREAD 

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PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


Lily  A.  Long's  RADISSON:  The  Voyageur 

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PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


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MARTIAL    INTERLUDES 

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situation  and  has  massed  all  her  forces  so  as  to  enhance  its  significance.  " — 
Boston  Transcript. 

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A  drama  in  verse,  $1.25  net;  by  mail,  $1.33. 

"  Mr,  Schutze  has  given  us  a  new  Holofernes,  and  in  doing  this  he  has 
very  greatly  intensified  the  tragic  situation.  .  .  .  A  well-developed  tragical 
motif  .  .  .  that  wonderful  moment  of  climax  .  .  .  the  tragic  integrity  of 
the  character  of  Judith  is  maintained.  .  .  .  The  details  of  the  drama  are 
well  carried  out.  .  .  .  Mr,  Schutze  has  not  only  been  able  to  change  tradi- 
tional elements  in  the  old  story  and  yet  render  his  version  strong  and 
convincing,  but  he  has  also  given  us  a  memorable  addition  to  the  old  Judith 
legend." — Boston  Transcript, 

Martin  Schutze's  JUDITH 

A  drama  in  verse.     $1.26  net;   by  mail  51.33 

"Perhaps  the  fullest  and  strongest  drama  that  has  ever  been  written 
about  these  lovers.  " — Chicago  Kecord- Herald. 

"  The  consecration  of  the  Hero  in  the  Temple  of  Venus,  the  apparition  of 
Leander,  his  encounter  with  the  temple  guards,  the  episodes  attending  flero's 
surrender  and  the  storm  with  its  tragic  outcome  are  all  valuable  theatrical 
incidents  ...  a  capable,  dignified  and  interesting  composition  which 
would  be  a  credit  to  any  theatre  producing  it.  ''—Nation. 

HENRY     HOLT     AND     COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW   YORK 


CLARK'S  CONTINENTAL  DRAMA  OF  TO-DAY— Outlines 
for  Its  Study 

By  Barrett  H.  Clark,  Editor  of  and  Translator  of  two  of 
the    plays    in    "Three    Alodern    French    Plays."      12mo. 
$1.35  net. 
Suggestions,  questions,  biographies,  and  bibliographies  for 
use  in  connection  with  the  study  of  some  of  the  more  import- 
ant plays  of  Ibsen,  Bjornsen,  Strindberg,  Tolstoy,  Gorky, 
TcHEKOFF,  Andreyeff,  Hauptmann,  Sudermann,  Weuekind, 
Schnitzler,  Von  Hoffmansthal,  Becque,  Le  Maitre,  Lave- 
DAN,    Don  nay,    Maeterlinck,    Rostand,    Brieux,    Hervieu, 
Giacosa,  D'Annunzio,  Echegaray,  and  Galdos. 

In  half  a  dozen  or  less  pages  for  each  play,  Mr.  Clark 
tries  to  indicate,  in  a  way  suggestive  to  playwriters  and 
students,  how  the  skilled  dramatists  write  their  plays.  It  is 
intended  that  the  volume  shall  be  used  in  connection  with 
the  reading  of  the  plays  themselves,  but  it  also  has  an  inde- 
pendent interest  in  itself. 

Prof.  William  Lyon  Phelps  of  Yale:  ".  .  .  One  of  the  most  useful 
works  on  the  contemporary  drama.  .  .  .  Extremely  practical,  full 
of  valuable  hints  and  suggestions.     .     .     ." 

Providence  Journal:  "Of  undoubted  value.  ...  At  the  com- 
pletion of  a  study  of  the  plays  in  connection  with  the  'Outline'  one 
should  have  a  definite  knowledge  of  the  essentials  of  dramatic  tech- 
nique in  general,  and  of  the  modern  movement  in  particular." 

SLvth  Edition,  Enlarged  and  with  Portraits 

HALE'S    DRAMATIST'S    OF    TO-DAY 

By  Prof.  Edward  Everett  Hale,  Jr.,  of  Union  College. 
Rostand,      Hauptmann,      Sudermann, 
PiNERo,   Shaw,  Phillips,  Maeterlinck 
"A   Note    on    Standards    of    Criticism,"    "Our    Idea    of 

Tragedy,"  and  an  appendix  of  all  the  plays  of  each  author, 

with  dates  of  their  first  performance  or  publication,  complete 

the  volume,    $1.50  net. 

New  York  Evening  Post:  "It  is  not  often  nowadays  that  a  theatrical 
book  can  be  met  with  so  free  from  gush  and  mere  eulogy,  or  so 
weighted  by  common  sense  ...  an  excellent  chronological  appendix 
and    full   index     .     .     .     uncommonly   useful    for    reference." 

Brooklyn  Eagle :     "A  dramatic  critic  who  is  not  just  'busting'  himself 

with    Titanic    intellectualities,    but    who    is    a    readable    dramatic    critic. 

Mr.   Hale   is  a  modest   and   sensible,  as   well  as  an  acute  and 

sound  critic.     .     .     .     Most  people  will  be  surprised  and  delighted  with 

Mr.    Hale's  simplicity,    perspicuity   and   ingenuousness." 

HENRY    MOLT    AND    COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW    YORK 


By  Clayton  Hamilton 
STUDIES  IN  STAGECRAFT 

Contents  :  The  New  Art  of  Making  Plays,  The  Pictorial 
Stage,  The  Drama  of  IlUision,  The  Modern  Art  of  Stage 
Direction,  A  Plea  for  a  New  Type  of  Play,  The  Undramatic 
Drama,  The  Value  of  Stage  Conventions,  The  Supernatural 
Drama,  The  Irish  National  Theatre,  The  Personality  of  the 
Playwright,  Where  to  Begin  a  Play,  Continuity  of  Structure, 
Rliythm  and  Tempo,  The  Plays  of  Yesteryear,  A  New  De- 
fense of  Melodrama,  The  Art  of  the  Moving-Picture  Play, 
The  One-Act  Play  in  America,  Organizing  an  Audience,  The 
Function  of  Dramatic  Criticism,  etc.,  etc.     $1.50  net 

Nation:  "Information,  alertness,  coolness,  sanity  and  the  command 
of  a  forceful  and  pointed  English.  ...  A  good  book,  in  spite  of 
all  deductions." 

Prof.  Archibald  Henderson,  in  The  Drama:  "Uniformly  excellent  in 
quality.  .  .  .  Continuously  interesting  in  presentation  .  .  . 
uniform  for  high  excellence  and  elevated  standards.     .     .     ." 

Athenaeum  {London) :  "His  discussions,  though  incomplete,  are 
sufficiently  provocative   of  thought  to  be  vifell  worth   reading." 

THE  THEORY  OF  THE  THEATRE 

The  Theory  of  the  Theatre. — What  is  a  Play? — The 
Ps3'chology  of  Theatre  Audiences. — The  Actor  and  the  Dra- 
matist.— Stage  Conventions  in  Modern  Times. — The  Four 
Leading  Types  of  Drama :  Tragedy  and  Melodrama ;  Comedy 
and  Farce. — The  Modern  Social  Drama,  etc.,  etc. 

Other  Principles  of  Dramatic  Criticism. — The  Public 
and  the  Dramatist. — Dramatic  Art  and  the  Theatre  Business. 
— Dramatic  Literature  and  Theatric  Journalism. — The  Inten- 
tion of  Performance. — The  Quality  of  New  Endeavor. — 
Pleasant  and  Unpleasant  Plays. — Themes  in  the  Theatre. — 
The  Function  of  Imagination,  etc.,  etc.  4th  printing.   $1.50  net. 

Bookman:  "Presents  coherently  a  more  substantial  body  of  idea  on 
the  subject  than  perhaps  elsewhere  accessible." 

Boston  Transcript :  "At  every  moment  of  his  discussion  he  has  a 
firm  grasp  upon  every  phase  of  the  subject." 


THE  GERMAN  DRAMA  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY 

By  Georg  Witkowski.    Translated  by  Prof.  L.  E.  Horning. 

Kleist,  Grillparzer,  Hebbel,  Ludwig,  Wildenbruch,  Sudermann,  Haupt- 
mann   and  minor   dramatists   receive   attention.      12nio.      $1.00. 

New  York  Times  Review:  "The  translation  of  this  brief,  clear  and 
logical  account  was  an  extremely  happy  idea.  Nothing  at  the  same  time 
so  comprehensive  and  terse  has  appeared  on  the  subject." 


HENRY      HOLT     AND      COMPANY 

PUBLISHPRS  NEW  YORK 


ARCHIBALD    HENDERSON'S    THE  CHANGING   DRAMA 

Its  Contributions  and  Tendencies.  By  the  Author  of  "George 
Bernard  Shaw  :  His  Life  and  Works,"  "European  Drama- 
tists," etc.     12mo.    $1,50  net. 

The  pioneer  book  in  English  in  its  field.  While  a  number 
of  good  books,  taking  up  important  dramatists  and  discussing 
them  one  after  another,  are  available,  this  is  probably  the  first 
that  describes  the  significant  changes  and  movements  in  the 
drama  of  the  last  half  century,  illustrating  them  by  the  work  of 
leading  dramatists  and  by  apt  citations  of  and  quotations  from 
their  plays.  The  author,  publicist  as  well  as  dramatic  critic, 
aims  to  show  the  expression  of  the  larger  realities  of  con- 
temporary life  in  the  drama,  the  widening  of  social  influence 
of  the  stage,  the  new  technic,  form,  and  content  of  the  play, 
the  substitution  of  the  theme  for  the  hero,  the  conflict  of  wills 
for  that  of  arms,  etc.  In  short,  to  give  a  brief  but  authorita- 
tive general  survey  with  a  more  detailed  appraisal  of  some  of 
the  chief  creative  contributions. 

The  chapter  headings  indicate  the  content  and  scope  of  the 
Avork:  Drama  in  the  New  Age;  The  New  Criticism  and  Nev/ 
Ethics;  Science  and  the  New  Drama;  The  New  Forms — 
Realism  and  the  Pulpit  Stage ;  The  New  Forms — Naturalism 
and  the  Free  Theatre ;  The  Battle  with  Illusions ;  The  Ancient 
Bondage  and  the  New  Freedom ;  The  New  Technic ;  The 
Play  and  the  Reader ;  The  New  Content ;  The  Newer 
Tendencies. 

The  author,  though  an  American,  has  also  studied  the 
drama  in  the  theatres  of  Great  Britain  and  the  Continent,  and 
has  before  this  demonstrated  that  he  is  a  dramatic  scholar 
and  a  keen,  clear-eyed,  entertaining  critic.  His  articles  have 
appeared  in  La  Societe  Notwelle,  Mercnre  de  France,  Deutsche 
Revue,  Illustrerct  Tidende,  Finsk  Tidskrift,  T.  P.'s  Maga- 
zine, etc.,  etc. 

Alaurice  Maeterlinck  said  of  his  "Interpreters  of  Life" 
(now  incorporated  in  his  "European  Dramatists")  :  "You 
have  Avritten  one  of  the  most  sagacious,  most  acute,  and  most 
penetrating  essays  in  the  whole  modern  literary  movement." 

"It  is  a  really  great  work,"  said  Professor  William  Lyon 
Phelps  of  "George  Bernard  Shaw :  His  Life  and  Works." 

Of  his  "European  Dramatists,"  The  Dial  said :  "The  criti- 
cisms of  their  work  are  keen  and  lucid,  and  have  the  advan- 
tage of  coming  from  one  who  has  studied  the  plays 
exhaustively." 

HENRY     HOLT     AND     COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  vii'14  NEW  YORK 


224  W.  Broadwa> 
Glendale,  Calif.  91204 


